American Copies
by jaistashu
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is relaxing in the grassy plains, but is shocked to see a revolutionary soldier point a musket between his eyes in the year 2011.
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia.**

**This fanfiction is inspired by a fanart I came across. Thank you for your time!**

* * *

><p>American Copies<p>

Chapter 1 – Introduction

Alfred F. Jones's eyelids opened to reveal baby blue eyes that stared up at the rolling clouds of the United States' plains. The colors of the clouds, he noted, were hues of gray and the soft grass that cradled his body waved in the cool winds. A bit of hay stuck out from between Alfred's pearly teeth and smooth lips. The length of hay swayed from side to side in the wind and finally was tugged from Alfred's mouth. "It's gonna rain," Alfred's rarely soft voice spoke out to no one. His eyes slid close, begging for a nap on the grass that tickled his slender fingers and high boned cheeks.

A voice demanded loudly, "Are you a loyalist or a patriot?"

Alfred's eyelids opened and looked up to his left. Originally, his expression was relaxed and without much care, but it instantly was stricken with shock as he saw a young teenager pointing an old musket at him. He sat up quickly, blades of grass stuck to his bomber jacket. Bright blue eyes glared at Alfred and the teenager's revolutionary war uniform flowed on the wind's back. He shouted again, "Answer! Are you a loyalist or a patriot?"

"Oh, my God," Alfred breathed and stood slowly. He was maybe a foot taller than the revolutionary soldier and the soldier had a spark of fury buried in his eyes.

The soldier cocked his old musket, "I'm not going to ask again! I'll shoot you in ten seconds!"

"Patriot, soldier," Alfred answered while awing at his former self, "I am most definitely a patriot." Harsh memories swarmed in Alfred's mind, threatening him to run to Arthur for comfort.

The soldier grinned. The hostile look in his eyes dispersed almost immediately. He put his gun back under his arm and over his head as he thrusted his right hand out to greet his ally's, "It's always good to meet another fellow patriot. C'mon, General Washington needs us at Valley Forge."

Alfred shuddered from the freezing memory that was Valley Forge, "You really don't need to do that, I promise you." He shook his former self's hand warmly. "Actually, the war's over," He said with a smile.

The revolutionary war Alfred looked at his future self with a bewildered expression, "Over?" He let his hand drop, "How could it be over? I just spent weeks gathering men of all ages that hate the British to join me at Valley Forge with George Washington! I didn't see the last battle yet! What's going on?"

Alfred held up both of his hands to signify that his other self should calm down, "Hold on. Let's start with how you got here. Right now, the year is 2011. I'm pretty sure that you skipped a few years."

The revolutionary soldier's voice cracked as his mouth hung open. "T-two thousand eleven? What happened to the 235 years I lost?" His hands shot to his scalp and his fingers dug through his hair in complete horror. "How on Earth did this happen?"

"Hey, hey," Alfred pulled the teenager's hands from his head and he spoke in a tranquil manner, "everything will be okay. I'm sure Tony can fix something up to send you back to your original time and then you can beat the pants off of Arthur with Francis."

The shock was off young Alfred's face, but he continued to speak either way, "Do I win? Do I earn my freedom?"

A bit of aged amusement twinkled in Alfred's eyes. He locked his weathered gaze with the soldier's youthful one, "Mm, I can't spoil that for you, I'm afraid. It's big. Don't you ever give up. For as long as you live, don't you ever give up. Become the strongest nation you can be."

A confident grin spread across the soldier's face, "Yeah. I'll be the greatest hero in the free world!"

Alfred nodded and matched the soldier's smile, "That's right. You even get to save the world." A displeased expression came over Alfred's face, "It's true that it takes some poking from Arthur t-…" Alfred thought about how it was Arthur that finally forced him into past battles. "It… Well, you just join because Arthur finally gets you off your cowardly butt." He stopped talking when he noticed that his younger self's brain was full to bursting with confusion. "Just focus on winning the Revolutionary War." He patted the soldier's shoulder.

An exuberant voice combined with a thunder of hooves shot out from the winds of the plains.

Both Alfreds turned forward to see a young man from a time between the first cries of freedom and the clacking of the Information Age. With one hand clinging onto a fist of charcoal horse hair and the other swinging over his head, clutching a vintage, open-crowned hat, the boy kicked his spurs back into his horse's hide. He shouted and yipped as the horse dashed across the plains. The cowboy's voice rang out as loud as he could, "To the light, Alice, to the light!"

"My God," Alfred spoke with disbelief laced through his words, "why…?" He was not quite sure what it was he could ask. It was already strange enough to have a very vivid memory of his old military days standing beside him, but to have a flash of the mid to late 1800's memory appear as well? Were these the beginnings of losing one's mind?

The revolutionary soldier nudged his future self in the ribs and pointed towards their left - to the direction that the rancher was riding towards. The modern Alfred looked to his left to see streaks of light escaping the confines of the graying clouds that centered at once spot about half a mile away. The revolutionary soldier began walking towards it, but stopped and looked back to his modern self. "Well, come on," he said, "that light isn't going to be there forever. You see all the clouds." He began walking again and the modern Alfred hesitantly joined him.

The two conversed about past trifles and fun memories until they could just see what the excitement was in the distance. Alfred squinted through his glasses, "Is that..?" Upon realizing who it was that sat in a small crowd of look-alikes, his is mouth hung open in complete and utter shock.

"That guy sitting looks a lot like Arthur," Revolutionary Alfred spoke gently, trying to keep his anger at a minimum.

The man sitting was Arthur. The only change was his appearance. Fluffy white wings bloomed from his back and a white robe clung to Arthur's pale frame. The cowboy Alfred lied on his stomach, poking a pale creature with a flick of white sprouting from its head. There was another Alfred that was just a year or two younger than revolutionary Alfred. He was dressed in a suit seemingly pulled out from a dark chest from which it was hidden and he stood over the group, watching the child pulling at Arthur's right arm. "Come play with me," the child whined as he tugged. Arthur laughed with delight as the toddler was cradled in Arthur's other arm, examining the magic wand.

Modern Alfred's voice sunk down to a dangerous level, "Britannia Angel."

"Oh," Revolutionary Alfred nodded his head, "That makes sense. Britannia Angel used his magic to bring all ages of me to the same time. So my future is that cowboy and you-" Revolutionary Alfred looked up at his modern self. The Alfred from the Information Age could not dwell on the insightful observation his younger self had suggested. Sure, it made sense. Sure, he was sure that Arthur was so selfish that he would try to pull such a stunt…but at this moment all he knew was rage.

"All my history," Modern Alfred's voice was still dark and threatening, "I've worked so hard for it and he… I'll kill him. I'll kill him for threatening my existence!" Alfred's fists turned white from his grip. Revolutionary Alfred's eyes sparked with excitement from the other's anger.

The suited Alfred glanced back at the soldier and super power. He seemed to be the only one who could not keep his gaze on one thing for very long. Alfred snatched revolutionary soldier's musket and charged at the group.


	2. Explanation

**Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia.**

* * *

><p>American Copies<p>

Chapter 2 – Explanation

The Alfred dressed in revolutionary blue yelled as his feet pounded against the grassy plains, "Give me my musket back!"

A dark glare played into the modernly dressed Alfred's furious eyes as he ran at the English angel that sat on the soft, fauna stricken ground. The Alfred dressed in an old suit gasped as he saw the modernly dressed Alfred charge. The suited Alfred looked back and forth from his angelic guardian to the manic super power. He squeezed his eyes shut before tackling the modern Alfred to the ground and kicking the musket away.

The modern Alfred let out a frustrated yell as he fought with his younger self, though; it was not much of a battle. The revolutionary soldier picked up his musket and felt torn as he watched his two other selves fight in the dirt. It was then that the cowboy looked up from the – what seemed to be – mochi he was proding and turned his gaze towards the wrestling nations. A grin etched deeper into his face as he jumped up and ran over.

The young cowboy asked hurriedly, "Who's the snake?"

Both of the rough fighters shouted, "He is!" The modern Alfred's index finger darted at Arthur while the suited Alfred pointed at the modernized nation that was currently pinned underneath him.

The cowboy stared blankly as his smile was still apparent on his face. He looked to the revolutionary soldier for guidance. After brushing himself off, the Alfred with a musket over his shoulder pointed at Arthur. The suited Alfred scoffed and pulled on the cowboy's leather chaps, "Are you going to believe them or me?" The cowboy shrugged with the grin still on his face.

The younger Alfred wearing his – not quite – neat suit pouted and then looked to Arthur, "Arthur," the suited Alfred called, "this guy was about to hurt you!"

The child that was tugging on Arthur's arm stood straight and stared at the display as the babe in Arthur's arm kissed and tapped the wand on his own face. The modernized Alfred glared at Arthur's fluffy wings and back. The revolutionary soldier form of Alfred raised his gun and aimed at Arthur, "Turn around and face me! Now!"

Arthur sighed softly and stood, still cradling baby Alfred in his arms. The child copy merely gripped the white cloth that hung on Arthur's frame. The angel turned around to face the modern nation that was pinned. His brilliant, emerald eyes and frown were unamused as they observed his time period's Alfred struggle.

"Arthur," the child Alfred spoke in his juvenile voice.

Arthur's dull gaze immediately transformed into one of wonder and inquiry as it darted to see the child at his side. "Yes," His voice was light hearted, "what is it you need, Poppet?"

The child pointed at the group of four and with a confused pout spoke childishly, "Why do all of those weird people look like me? And who's that kid you're holding?"

A smile grew on Arthur's face and turned mischievous when he looked at the other Alfreds, "Why, Alfred, they're all you. That is what you will look like in the future." Arthur crouched down to show the child Alfred his toddler self, "And this is you as a toddler. This is what you looked like when I first found you."

The child poked at the toddler in awe, though the younger one had not a clue. He was still quite occupied with Arthur's wand. The oldest Alfred growled, "How dare you?" Arthur and the child looked to the modern Alfred. "How dare you summon me from different time periods to the same place? Don't you know that you're screwing with my history? I am the greatest super power in the world! Do you have any idea what will happen if I don't exist?" Everyone was silent. After a pause, Alfred thought deeply of how different the world would be without him and if they ever actually needed him before. "God, England," He yelled with a knot in his throat, "you're so stupid!"

The revolutionary soldier grinned and proceeded to yank the suited Alfred off of the modern Alfred. "Well said, Sir," The soldier complemented his older self as he helped him up.

The other Alfreds, except for those otherwise occupied (the wand bearer) looked to Arthur. Arthur only stared at the modern Alfred, his smile gone and his eyes dull yet again. Child Alfred pulled on Arthur's clothes, "Arthur, is everything he's saying true?"

Arthur gulped lightly and without looking at the child, he answered, "It is true that I summoned different versions of you to this spot. It is true that in the year 2011 The United States of America is a strong super power in the world." He muttered – almost hissed – out his last sentence, "But I am _not_ stupid." When the child did not respond, Arthur continued to talk, "I do believe the eldest Alfred and I need to have a chat in a private area where little ones cannot hear." He eyed the youngest Alfred that he held in his arms.

The oldest Alfred – still frustrated – looked to the cowboy, "Feel like showing 'em our log cabin?"

"A modern establishment would be better," Arthur narrowed his eyes in distaste.

The oldest Alfred held back a hiss, "It _is_ modern. I finally got around to building the darn thing."

The cowboy gasped and looked to the pilot, "Is it the same place?"

With a nod, the modern Alfred grinned, "Yep." Alfred observed the rancher's excitement, thinking it to be quite appropriate, before looking around at all of his copies. He counted under his breath and ended with a rather annoyed glare at Arthur. "Everyone – er – all of me, I guess, listen up!" He turned and faced his copies. "There are eight of us –"

"They know that. I did teach you basic arithmetic when you were a child," Arthur huffed under his breath.

Modern Alfred bit his tongue in order to ignore Arthur's comment. "As I was saying," He continued, "there are eight of us and my car can only fit five people. Cowboy," Modern Alfred turned his attention to his younger self that had picked up the mochi, "You can take another person on Alice, right?"

The cowboy nodded, his grin not faltering, "Yep. I'll take this here white ball of glob. He seems friendly."

"Awesome," Alfred confirmed his cowboy self's plan, "Arthur, I can ride on your lap right?"

Alfred's question was met with an icy and disbelieving gaze. It was quite obvious that Arthur knew exactly what his question sounded like and did not think it appropriate to answer.

Modern Alfred stared at Arthur for a few seconds with his eyes narrowing in concentration. His eyes shot open and one twitched when he realized what he had said. "I-I meant," he quickly corrected himself as his tanned skin hid the red that brushed his face, "as a toddler! I meant to ask if my toddler self can ride on your lap! God, you're such a pervert!"

"I am not and I think it's wiser to keep this toddler version of you in the back seat," Arthur hissed as the revolutionary soldier clutched his aching stomach and covered his gagging mouth when he thought in detail of what his future self meant – juvenile as it was.

The soldier coughed and cleared his throat, "Hey!" He spoke, causing both the modern Alfred and Arthur turn their attention towards him, "I'll ride with the cowboy, too, so there will be enough room in the…the 'car'. That's what you said, right? You have a 'car'?"

"It's only for getting around," The pilot shrugged, "it isn't very impressive. Nice, I guess, but it gets the job done."

"Thank God," Arthur muttered under his breath. The last thing he wanted at this very second was to ride in Alfred's corvette with the windows down. He had no desire to have his hair plastered to his head and his eyes permanently dried.

The other Alfreds, excluding the toddler and mochi, looked to the modern Alfred curiously. It was then the super power grinned again and waved his hand for them to follow, leading the group to his car. Alfred's other selves gaped at the car and poked at it. "This is a Toyota Camry that I bought last year," He laughed a bit under his breath, his voice added a bit of a mischievous purr to his last statement, "it's a manual."

If the countries or even the American citizens were lucky or unfortunate enough to catch Alfred fawning over his precious cars, he was sure to spew hours of detailed history leading back to the original Fords. Alfred opened his mouth to begin his long speech when Arthur elbowed his ribs and interrupted him, "Don't even start. They won't understand anyway. They're decades behind your technological advancements. Just get them into the car and drive us to your cabin."

Alfred frowned at that and proceeded to open the car doors. "Alright, kid and suit, hop into the car," Alfred addressed his colony selves and pointed inside the vehicle.

The child climbed into the car, throwing all caution to the wind for a new adventure. Alfred directed his child self to sit in the seat behind the driver's seat. He then took his toddler self from Arthur, much to his dismay, and buckled him in the center seat. As modern Alfred instructed the child to buckle his seatbelt and explain why it was there, the suited Alfred slid into the place behind the passenger's seat and watched the demonstration. When he felt confident enough that he knew what he was doing, the suited Alfred pulled the seatbelt from its resting place and buckled it in.

"What does this animal eat?" The curious child asked just before the modern Alfred slammed the car door closed.

Alfred laughed to himself as Arthur sat in the passenger's seat and buckled himself in. The pilot slipped into his seat and pulled his car door closed. He pulled the safety belt over his chest and buckled it in. "This ain't an animal," The modern America corrected his colonial self, "it's a machine and it uses something called gas to run. Here, does any animal sound like this?" Alfred immediately stuck his key into the keyhole and shoved the clutch in just before turning the key. The child and suited Alfred gasped and clutched their seats at the start of the car. Alfred's grin morphed into a determined smirk as he revved the engine of the car, causing it to roar.

The child began to tremble, digging his fingers into the seat cushion. Arthur looked in the backseat to see the toddler perfectly at peace, the child frightened, and the suited Alfred staring with wide, but calm eyes. Arthur looked to the child, "Everything alright, love?" In response, the child whimpered and nodded. England glared at the modern Alfred, "Stop frightening them!"

"Pssh," Alfred quietly brushed off Arthur's nags, "they'll be fine." He whispered softly, "Three, two…"

Arthur's eyes widened and he clutched his seat as well, "Alfred, is this an often used road? You can't speed! You mustn't!"

"One," At the last number, Alfred yanked the gear shift into first gear and lifted his foot off the clutch while thrusting his right foot into the accelerator. The fast acceleration caused rubber to burn and a screeching sound resounded across the plains. The Camry shot from its parking spot on the side of the road onto the asphalt. Arthur watched Alfred's feet with a nervous gaze. It was true that Alfred was always a magnificent driver, but he tended to live for the speed as if it were an addiction. Alfred's right hand never left the gear shift as it kept yanking it up to higher gears. Finally, Alfred let his stick shift rest in fifth gear and his left foot slept on the car floor after its rapid use.

Arthur looked up from Alfred's feet to his steering wheel. He gasped and scolded, "You can't drive with just your left hand! And such a loose grip… You must be going at least fifty-five! Don't you care about the other passengers?" After he received no answer, Arthur huffed and shouted, "Alfred, I am speaking to you! Don't ignore me, you brat!"

Alfred's voice came in short breaths; his adrenaline shooting through him did not want to be contained. To be quite honest, Alfred wanted to roll down his windows and whoop and scream into the wide open skies of the plains. He wanted to howl at the top of his lungs as if he was a coyote and soon he would have to. "Arthur," his strangled voice whispered, "I can give you my undivided attention or I could drive the car. Your pick."

The child that sat in the back seat released his grip on the seat. He was able to adjust to the car's speed easily, due to the fact that the ride was fairly smooth. He stared at the interaction in the front seat. The child Alfred placed his hand on his cheek in wonder. He thought that Arthur's nagging and Alfred's indifference and calmness was much like a wife and husband. He giggled lightly when Arthur scoffed and gave up the fight. The child, satisfied with his assumption, turned to look out his own window. His eyes soon grew heavy due to the lulling sound of the car's purr and the feel of its speed. The stable landscaping helped to contribute to the lullaby of the open road. His eyes shot open when he heard the windows opening and the wind blowing into the car.

"Oh, Alfred," Arthur looked at the driver, "don't roll down the windows! You'll ruin-" He stopped himself when he thought through his next sentence. It would not seem very manly at all to say that his hair would be ruined even more than it already was. Arthur bit his lip to let his nags be drowned out. After all, the nature of the United States of America did smell comforting. Arthur was startled as Alfred howled out the window. He glared at his former colony and raised his voice over the wind's pounding breath, "Belt up! You're not a wolf!"

The modern Alfred laughed in response and panted with the car's own rushing. The group in the backseat stared at their future self. _Unbelievable_, they thought. The future version of themselves was practically an animal; an animal that was fueled on carefree, creative thinking and the adrenaline of speed without restraints. They looked out the suited Alfred's window to see the cowboy and soldier on the mare that thundered across the grass. The cowboy yipped and howled back at his future self.

"For God's sake," Arthur shouted and then glared at the modern Alfred, "belt up! You and your cowboy self are bloody horrendous!" An annoyed expression was apparent on modern Alfred's face. He scoffed and rested his right hand on the gear shift again. The only finger that did not curl over the handle was his middle finger which stood proud and still for Arthur's horrified eyes. Arthur gasped loudly and stuttered, "Alfred! How dare you?"

The modern Alfred slammed the clutch in and yanked the gear shift into its neutral position. His right foot pressed on the break until they stopped and his left foot rested on the floor again. Without a word, Alfred pulled up the emergency break and turned off the car. Arthur, still absolutely disgusted, roughly unbuckled himself and stepped out of the car as Alfred unbuckled the child and toddler in the back seat. The suited Alfred was able to unbuckle himself and climb out of the car without much trouble. The modern Alfred pulled the child out of the car and stood him on the ground. He pulled the toddler version of himself that was currently fast asleep into his arms.

The modern Alfred pushed the door closed with his knee. He looked down at the child and gave him the keys to the car. "Press that button," He spoke in a soft voice as he pointed to the car lock button, "press it twice." The child did so and jumped when the car honked by itself. Alfred took the keys back and slid them in to his pocket before leading the small group towards the cabin.

The child and suited Alfred both stared in awe at the three story log cabin. The windows were made of a special glass and the wooden hand rails did not splinter the two when they dragged their hands across them. Everything was cut so perfectly and smoothed to the touch. Though, of course, the only part that was more breath taking than the enormous log cabin was the landscape it was looking over. The child ran to the edge of the balcony that was stationed over a perfectly still lake. The mountains and trees had brothers and sisters in the water that mirrored their exact positions and stayed unmoving. A strong gust of wind shot by them causing them to look into where the force came from. They saw that the cowboy and soldier had just arrived. Arthur followed the modern Alfred into the cabin, yelling at him for his behavior. The modern Alfred set the toddler who was waking up in a bean bag chair stationed directly in front of a light wood coffee table. He switched the fifty-five inch television on which was four feet from the toddler's face. The channel he chose had what seemed to be a cartoon with a crude drawing style and random plot – if one could even call it plot. Instantly, the toddler's mouth hung open at the bright colors and fast drawings and his eyes were glued to the screen.

The other four Alfreds walked through the firm, wooden door and saw the television that sat against the wall in which the door was built in. Quickly, the group ran over to the toddler and stood on either side of the toddler to watch the colors blend and fuse with the cartoon.

The modern Alfred crossed his arms, satisfied with his work and then walked back out to the balcony with Arthur. Once the thick door was closed, Arthur's mouth started to ramble off and lecture, "How _dare_ you flash that crude gesture at me? What makes you think that you can do that? And that howling – my _God_ – that howling was atrocious! You are not an animal, Alfred, you are a nation. You cannot act that way!"

Alfred's eyes were half lidded and his eyebrows were knitted together. His voice was saturated with aggravation, "So what's your excuse?"

Arthur's mouth hung open again, appalled by Alfred's back talking, "Excuse me –"

"Look at yourself," Alfred reached his open hands out to Arthur and waved his arms up and down to emphasize his point, "You're dressed in a robe that hardly covers your ass and you carry around a dumb looking wand. Lastly, you just summoned a ton of my history all in one spot and you don't expect me to flip the bird?" Arthur looked away and played a bit with the hem of his white fabric. "What the _Hell_ is going through your head?"

Arthur scoffed and turned his attention back to Alfred. His expression was stern as he spoke with a more controlled tone of voice, "Alright, I'll change." He closed his eyes and waved his wand causing his white toga to morph into his normal, everyday clothes. "There," He rested his hands on his hips, "is that better, Brat?"

A bit of annoyance left Alfred's expression, "Yeah, I guess. Now, why did you zap six versions of me into the present? What in God's name were you thinking?"

"I've been working on this for quite some time," Arthur admitted, ignoring the fury that flicked about in Alfred's blue eyes, "Finally when there was a new moon, I took advantage of the situation. I gathered all I needed to summon these versions of you and with the new moon's dark power, I 'zapped' the six versions into this time period."

"Well switch it back," Alfred crossed his arms, attempting to look stronger and more threatening, "I don't want my history getting erased all because of your stupid spells."

"My spells aren't stupid," Arthur growled, "Besides, I require a full moon to reverse this particular spell."

Alfred gazed past Arthur and to the pristine lake. The sky was a deep blue that was gradually getting darker. He continued to talk, "Then you only have fourteen days to prepare the reversal spell. How do I know if my history's falling apart?"

"There will be strange signs," Arthur spoke in all seriousness, but he still earned a frustrated grunt from Alfred anyway. "Don't worry yourself over this. If I took care of you all those years ago, I can do it again. This will be easy," Arthur reassured his former colony.

The larger nation mumbled, "Yeah, but since there are seven of me now, I'm sure it's gonna be a bit more of a challenge. Whatever. Revolutionary me looks pretty beaten up. I'm gonna show him how to use the bathroom." After he finished his last few statements, he walked back into the cabin, followed closely by Arthur.

As soon as the door fell closed behind the two, they gasped at the lack of Americas. The child was now sitting in the bean bag chair with the toddler in his lap. The toddler sucked and teethed on the mochi who seemed to not mind it. Both the toddler's and child's eyes were glued to the television screen. They were even entranced with the commercials.

"This is bad," Alfred's voice had a rare, nervous tone to it, "Arthur, you look upstairs, I'll look downstairs."

Arthur nodded in response before running to the stairs and storming up them. Alfred bolted from the front door to search the kitchen.

After thoroughly searching the second floor, Arthur trudged up the second staircase up to the third floor. He panted as he sat on the top stair, leaning against the wall which was facing the wall of windows. Arthur gasped when he saw an Alfred in a bit of a loose, white tee shirt and baggy, white jeans standing outside on the balcony in front of him. Quickly, Arthur stood and walked out of the sliding glass door. "Alfred," He spoke sharply, "why did you leave the living room?"

"I bet you don't even know which one I am," The Alfred in new clothing stared out at the flawless lake. His tone of voice was dull; a twinge of sadness embroidered his expression. Before Arthur could scold him for mumbling, Alfred spoke louder, "Obviously I'm not the most modern Alfred, because I'm not wearing glasses on my face." He stood up straight, meeting Arthur's height, "I'm not constantly grinning because I'm high on freedom, so I'm not the version of me that loves to wear leather and ride a fast mare." He pressed a hand to his chest and finally turned to Arthur. Tears bubbled forth in his eyes, "And I don't look like I want to see you tortured on a spit so I can't be the soldier in the ruined, blue military uniform!" Arthur stared blankly at the suited Alfred before adopting a sympathetic look. He reached over to rest his right hand on Alfred's left cheek. The colony scoffed and smacked Arthur's hand away. He shouted, "_Why_ did you bring other versions of myself to this foreign time period I know nothing about? How can you do this to me?" He swallowed thickly and coughed a bit, "You took me away from all of my friends – all that I know! I'm not like the child downstairs with his eyes glued to the box with moving paintings. I can't be so isolated from my life that I'm ripped from all that I know and love. You're not enough to replace all of that for me!"

Arthur's eyebrows tilted in slight annoyance. So this was when those poisonous thoughts began. He attempted to diffuse the situation, "Alfred, calm down –"

"My most modern self says that this is really dangerous! I could die!" Alfred dug his hands through his hair as his bright blue eyes were wide with terror and pain.

"I love you," Arthur tried to speak in a soothing voice, "I wanted to see you all again –"

Alfred let his arms fall as a glare started to appear on his face, "For a smart empire, this was a really stupid thing to do." Arthur's mouth hung open slightly. Alfred had never dared to speak so disrespectfully until he was a few inches taller than Arthur. "If I disappear, then you won't have me anyway." Alfred's voice quickened, "Besides I'm the modern Alfred – we're all the same! The only thing that's ever changed is my appearance!" He paused to take a breath. His glare was gone and a look of pathetic pain wavered in its place, "Why can't you understand that?"

Arthur prevented a growl that begged to be freed from escaping his throat, "I will not have you calling me stupid." He pointed his index finger at Alfred as he scolded, "I am _not_ stupid and you should be respectful." He let his scolding hand drop to his side and glanced out at the dark lake that was beginning to mirror stray stars in the sky, "Even if you all disappear, you will still be a toddler in the New World when I find you again and then I could re-raise you and fix my mistakes with you." A strong breeze swept the nation's hair about his head as he gazed at the scenery.

Alfred stared at Arthur with complete and utter disturbed disbelief in his eyes. He scoffed, "Mistake?" He bit his lip, "I'm a mistake?" He squeezed his eyes shut and shouted at the floorboards, "Maybe I should listen to the soldier, cowboy, and pilot parts of myself! Maybe I should fight for my independence!" He opened his eyes and glared at the wood beneath his feet, "God knows the only relief I feel about being in this time period is that I'm not being choked with stupid rules and taxes-!"

A loud smack resounded, instantly shutting Alfred's mouth. The slap that Arthur forced on Alfred caused the colony to wobble from his standing position. He held his hand to his reddening cheek and stared at Arthur in shock.

"I won't allow it," Arthur's expression was possessive and his voice was deep and dark. His hand snatched a hold of Alfred's ear and pinched it harshly, earning a sharp moan from Alfred, "You _will_ show me the respect I deserve and you _won't_ go seeking independence from me." He paused to allow Alfred to take in his order, "We are a family and you will never disobey me again, Colony."

Alfred whimpered in pain at both his ear being pinched and his heart crumbled at being called 'colony' as if he was nothing more than a mere possession or pet. A collection of screams erupted from the first floor.

Arthur scoffed in annoyance, "What is that idiot doing now?" He glared at the staircase through the windows as he walked to the sliding glass door. "I do not want to hear another word of this independence nonsense. Do you understand?"

"Mm…," Alfred weakly grunted a sound of confirmation and was then left alone outside on the balcony. He watched as the head of messy blonde hair disappeared from his sight and then promptly fell to his knees. Alfred coughed as tears slipped down his cheeks. He used the hand rail to keep himself from falling on his face. Alfred sobbed quietly. All he knew was the hard hand of discipline and the metaphorical cage he was suffocating in.

* * *

><p><strong>Whew! May I take the time to say that I <strong>_**love**_** how that last scene turned out? Poor little suited Alfred. I was afraid he wouldn't get enough attention.**


	3. Making Breakfast

**Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia.**

* * *

><p>American Copies<p>

Chapter 3 – Making Breakfast

Arthur hurried down the stairs to the second floor, wondering if smacking Alfred was really the right thing to do. Usually in all time periods, hitting a fourteen year old would be a bold punishment, but effective. How dare that young teen speak that way to him? Arthur certainly never taught Alfred to speak that way. It did not matter. He would try and convince the Alfreds younger than the Revolutionary War Alfred that leaving him would result in absolute disaster and unhappiness or in severe punishment.

Arthur walked briskly to the kitchen's sliding, wooden door and inserted his forefinger in the brass hole where a doorknob would be. He pulled it open and was greeted with an explosion of white flour and the laughs of a few Alfreds. The sides of Arthur's mouth dug down into his face in extreme frustration. Arthur pulled off his sweater vest and turned it inside out. He wiped the flour from his closed eyelids and then glared furiously at the three Alfreds he saw: the pilot, the soldier, and the cowboy. "America," he said in a stern tone.

"Oops," The most modern Alfred had his back facing Arthur. He turned around to face his former caretaker and snickered a bit at Arthur's new, white appearance, "Sorry, Arthur." He shrugged and then pointed his black glove dressed thumb at the Alfred wearing chaps and a leather vest at the stove. He explained, "Cowboy me was trying to make flapjacks and he didn't know how to use the stove." He then pointed further past the stove in the narrow kitchen to the open pantry door where the soldier version of Alfred stood in. "Revolutionary me tried to get the ingredients and toddler me wandered in and we were trying not to step on him and...," The most modern Alfred glanced over the half wall that allowed whoever was in the kitchen to see into the main room, "Where is that toddler anyway?"

"The kid's gone, too," The cowboy said as he gripped one of the stove's knobs and pushed the chosen one in. He turned it slightly to beckon a constant clicking sound.

The pilot Alfred gasped and tuned the knob back into its neutral position. He sighed with relief and the soldier added onto the conversation, "They couldn't have gotten too far." As if on cue, the toddler sneezed, causing another small explosion of flour to bloom across the kitchen's already lightly dusted floor. The young colony giggled and patted the flour that he sat in next to the modern Alfred's foot.

The child colony ran out of the pantry, nearly knocking his older soldier self over backwards. He clutched an enormous bag of opened Skittles to his chest and grinned brightly. Arthur could have sworn his eye twitched. The child shrieked exuberantly, "I don't know what these are, but they are _delicious!_" He plunged a hand into the newly half empty back and dropped another handful of Skittles in his mouth.

"Hold on," The pilot pulled the large, red bag out of the desperate arms of his younger self, "we don't need you bouncing off the walls."

Finally, Arthur was able to find the words he needed to comprehend such a mess. "Oh, Alfred," He huffed and pressed the palms of his hands to his hips, "you're all a huge mess!" He groaned and massaged the bridge of his nose with his right hand, "How many bathrooms do you have in this house?"

The modern Alfred held the Skittles bag high above his child self's head. His child self, in turn, was standing on his toes and jumping, needy for his sugar rush to blaze on. The modern Alfred answered, "Three and a half."

"Very well," Arthur walked over to the flour pile the toddler was patting and squatted down beside him, "teach your other selves how to take a shower while I give the children their much needed bath."

The child halted in his begging and his twitching eyes stayed open as if he were petrified. Before anyone could blink, little Alfred had relinquished his prized Skittles and ran through the second doorway that led into the main room. He huffed and puffed as he jumped onto the leather couch and leaped over the backside to reach the stairs faster. The other three Alfreds stared after their child self, stunned at how fast he simply flew up the open stairs and disappeared to the second floor. They all heard the pounding of the child's feet and a loud door slam closed.

Arthur scoffed and pulled the toddler into his arms, "Bugger. Could one of you get the child into the bathroom?"

The toddler held onto the mochi Alfred and teethed on him. He let the white substance free from his mouth temporarily and asked, "Where we goin'?"

"For a bath," Arthur answered simply and prepared to stand. Instantly, Arthur regretted that he answered truthfully; he saw the immediate shock that entered the toddler's eyes. Arthur yelped as the toddler jumped out of his arms and ran through the doorway that Arthur had come through while holding the mochi to his small chest. Arthur glared at the pilot. He hissed, "You and your hatred of baths." Arthur ran back out the door he had come through to retrieve the toddler Alfred and to find the child Alfred.

The modern Alfred laughed in response and then turned to the cowboy and soldier. "Okay, guys," he clapped his hands and rubbed them together, "let's go learn about showers." He walked out of the kitchen the way the child took and to the opposite corner of the room where the stairs were. The cowboy followed after his older self without question whereas the soldier was a bit more hesitant due to the mess that had turned the kitchen into a snow covered room. The pilot led the two younger Alfreds up to the third floor of the spacious cabin. He strolled past the sliding glass door that led to the now dark balcony. The pilot turned left at the end of the hall. The cowboy and soldier followed, quickening their pace. The soldier stared wide eyed at the center of the room when the wall had ended. There was another large, wide screen television that was bigger than the one on the first floor and it had all sorts of game systems attached to it. The room was furnished with lounge furniture and the windows behind the television showed the night sky over the plains. The windows opposite showed a beautiful view of the lake. The soldier pressed his hands to the window and rested his forehead against the glass, loving the cool effect it had on his heated skin.

"Yo," the modern Alfred had stopped walking at where another dark hallway started. The soldier looked to his older self and walked to him. The modern Alfred continued to walk down the hall and stopped at a door that was stationed at the very end. He opened the door and walked inside the room. The cowboy and soldier stood in the door way and stared at the strange appliances. The thirteen by eight foot bathroom consisted of ivory tiling, a shower with translucent doors to the right of the main bathroom door, a sink opposite of the shower, a toilet beside the sink, and a bath tub at the far end of the room. There was a door that led into Alfred's master bedroom on the right wall between the shower and bath tub. A shallow bay window was positioned above the bath tub and where one would usually sit was actually a counter where toiletries rested.

Alfred walked into the center of the bathroom and watched his two younger selves investigate the room. "Alright," he said, "first thing's first." He lifted the lid of the toilet seat, "You guys have to know how to use the bathroom. If you ever have to... relieve yourself, open the lid of the toilet like I just did. If you just have to pee," He lifted the seat, "make sure to put the seat up before you urinate into the toilet bowl." He put the toilet seat back into its stationary position, "And if you have solid waste, you have to sit -"

"Well, yes, we _have_ been trained on this," The soldier crossed his arms, slightly annoyed.

"Yeah?" The modern Alfred smiled with an amused expression, "Okay. After you do your business, wipe your ass with the toilet paper, but don't put too much in the toilet or it'll clog." He patted the white toilet paper roll. "Now, when you're done with everything, flush the toilet. To do that, you have to press this lever right here," Alfred showed the cowboy and soldier where the lever was on the side of the toilet. He pressed on the lever, causing the toilet water to be sucked down into the hole in the bottom as it shouted at the newcomers. The soldier flinched and hid behind the cowboy as the cowboy's eyes widened a bit. "Then after you're done with everything, wash your hands with the soap." He showed the cowboy and soldier how to use the sink and soap. "Indoor plumbing is a beaut." The two young Alfreds nodded slowly in agreement.

"Okay, now you guys have to learn how to take a bath and a shower," Alfred sighed and turned to the bath tub. He sat on the edge of the tub and rolled up his sleeves. "This'll be loud," Alfred warned before turning the hot and cold knobs to a reasonable combination. Water thundered from the faucet and smashed against the bottom of the tub. Alfred pressed the drain closed and explained the basic functioning of a bath tub and how the combination the knobs were turned at could either freeze you or boil you. Once the tub was filled, the pilot turned the knobs until water ceased to pour from the faucet. "Which one of you first?" He asked.

The cowboy looked at the soldier and then shrugged in a carefree manner. He pulled off his clothes and allowed them to fall where he stood. The soldier looked away from the cowboy as soon as he could to respect his privacy. He stuck his foot in the bathwater and closed his eyes. For the first time that day, his grin was wiped off of his face. He climbed into the tub, moaning as he did so, and sat against the wall. "This's 'bout the best bath I've _ever_ had."

"And when the water gets cold, you can drain the tub and start over again. The water will still be hot," The pilot assured before he explained the basics of washing hair and soap. "Actually...," He took note of how dirty the cowboy was, "you'll have to change the water anyway."

The cowboy nodded in agreement and stared out the bay window up at the stars. His smile was now soft and relaxed. It no longer seemed to be forced.

"Okay," The pilot turned to the soldier, "strip." The revolutionary soldier gaped at the pilot, clearly not liking the idea. "C'mon, we're all the same guy."

The soldier scoffed, "Well, yeah, but we're not all the same age!"

"That makes a difference?" Alfred rubbed the back of his head in confusion as he conversed.

In a lazy accent, the cowboy spoke, "Arthur would hate it if you ran around nude."

The pilot grinned when the soldier's expression grew determined. He immediately pulled off his already ruined military uniform and let it fall beside the cowboy's clothes. Once he was completely stripped, the soldier planted his arms at his side as if he was receiving special, continental army orders. The modern Alfred laughed a bit before opening the door to the shower. He explained how the water came out of the shower head according to the set of the knob. "Alright, you got that?" Alfred asked his younger self after he had finished explaining.

The soldier nodded and then stepped cautiously into the shower. The modern Alfred set the knob to relatively warm water and pulled the knob out to its limit, causing the water in the shower head to pour out onto the soldier. The soldier Alfred gasped as the warm water washed over him. He groaned lightly as all the dirt and scum slowly fell from him and washed down the drain. He turned the knob slightly to the left to cause hotter water to flow. The modern Alfred pointed to where in the shower the toiletries were and handed the soldier a comb before closing the shower door. He walked over to the bath and handed a comb to the cowboy who seemed half asleep. "Hey," he patted his cowboy self's cheek, "you can't fall asleep in the tub unless someone else who is not taking a shower is in here with you."

The cowboy mumbled an intelligible response before sitting up and scrubbing himself.

"I'm going to set out clothes in the master bedroom for you two. Once you're done, go ahead and grab a towel from this towel rack," Alfred patted the towel rack that was built around the toilet, "and get dry before you leave the bathroom."

Both of the other Alfreds mumbled their response, each completely sedated from the hot water.

The modern Alfred glanced at each of his former selves before putting his worries to rest. They could certainly get out of the bathroom without killing themselves. Alfred walked through the master bedroom's door directly in front of him and closed it behind himself. He stretched and leaned to his left. Alfred switched the plain looking lamp that rested on his side table on to fill the room with light. He flinched when he saw one of the other Alfreds sitting on his bed. "What're you doing in here?" Alfred asked in a tone that was a little harder than he had intended.

The other Alfred flinched and stood. He faced the modern America and his skin on his left cheek gave off a red glow. "I'm sorry," He said quickly, "I-I didn't realize this was your room..." He rubbed his eyes thoroughly.

"Why is your cheek red?" Alfred guessed that the current copy was the suited Alfred since the only other Alfred that looked like him in age was the revolutionary war Alfred. The pilot sat down beside the suited Alfred and motioned for him to sit down again.

"Well," The suited Alfred hesitantly sat down beside his older self, "Arthur hit me..."

Alfred stood up and faced the colonial teen, "What?"

"No, it was my fault!" The suited Alfred waved his hands around to attempt ridding the atmosphere of any misunderstandings, "I was... talking about becoming independent." He looked off to the sliding glass door behind the pilot and his hands fell onto his thighs.

The pilot stomped his foot, causing the teen to look up at him with a shocked expression, "Don't you _ever_blame yourself for wanting independence! Not ever!" The suited Alfred backed up onto the bed at Alfred's yell. "That Arthur doesn't have any idea what he's doing!" The young teen bit his lip and looked down at his knees. "He doesn't know how to raise kids!" Alfred paced back and forth as he ranted, "That's exactly why I left him! He's a selfish jerk! Smacking you for wanting to be independent? Absurd! Why, I -" Hearing a choked sob made Alfred stop talking and pacing. He turned to face his younger self on the bed. Alfred climbed onto the soft bed and sat beside the teen. He wrapped an arm around the young one's shaking frame, allowing the colony to bury himself in his chest.

The once suited Alfred sobbed and rubbed his forehead against the other's shirt as words spilled from his mouth, "He-he used to just care for me and g-," He swallowed, "give me hugs and love me!" A hiccup temporarily interrupted Alfred, "S'not fair! I'm so confused." He paused and breathed unevenly before shouting, "Make it stop! Make it all stop!" His words were slurring and becoming difficult to interpret, "Mattie's not here! The Arthur I love isn't here!" Alfred's voice cracked, "And my friends... I have no one... I have absolutely no one. I'm so alone..." He sobbed bitterly and the hiccups refused to leave him.

The modern Alfred wrapped his other arm around the once suited Alfred's body and nuzzled his cheek against his head. "Shh," He spoke in a rare, soft tone, "I know. I know how it feels. It may seem like it, but you're not alone." The younger Alfred's sobbing lightened just enough to be noticeable. "Now," The pilot gripped the young colony's shoulders and held him away from his chest so they could see eye to eye, "you have a lot of other versions of yourself - me included. You can talk to all of us. Well... almost all of us." He shrugged, "The cowboy, soldier, and myself all know. Arthur loves us - he does, but after the Revolutionary War, he never admits it." The pilot glanced away and spoke even softer, "Sometimes I think he's grown to hate me..."

This caused the once suited Alfred to let out a choked cry, "I couldn't bear that!" He swatted his older self's hands from his shoulders and stood up, "I have to go apologize to him!" He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, "I can't lose him!"

"Wait," the modern Alfred grabbed the colony's arm. The colony did not struggle and merely stared at his older self with questioning eyes. "You don't know it now and you won't know it until at least the early twentieth century, but you love Arthur. You want to be with him forever and be his hero."

The younger Alfred shouted and attempted to yank his arm free, "I want to do that now!" He pulled again, "Please let go!"

"I'm not done," Alfred spoke harder and stood, "You will want to be close to him, but in a different way than when you were a child."

The colony shook his head, clearly frustrated, "I don't understand."

A smile filled with strained determination appeared on the modern America's face. If he could convince his younger self that freedom was the key, it would mean a great accomplishment. "You won't want to be his child - you will never want to be his underling ever again and you will retaliate against him." He leaned closer to his younger self, making sure that the point was engraved into his mind, "You will hurt him and you will make him think you hate him. You will become independent."

The once suited Alfred shook his head furiously, "But I don't want to!" He stared into his other self's eyes, "I don't want to hurt him!"

"Hey," The pilot was still determined, "you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs and our relationship with Arthur will turn into a damn good omelet if you listen to me now." He waited for the younger Alfred's expression to relax before he continued to speak, "You will break away from him as a child and you will come back to him and as an adult." He grinned, hoping he could change his younger self's mind, "You will be equals. You'll open up a whole other world that you'll be able to share with Arthur in a way you never were able to as a child." He paused to allow his words to sink in, "This new world is better, so trust me." The modern Alfred released the colony's arm.

The once suited Alfred looked away in thought. After a few seconds, he looked back into his older self's eyes. His own eyes glimmered with a new fire; determination and a smile appeared on his face. "Okay," he nodded, "What should I do?"

The pilot could not help but to grin brightly. He patted his younger self's shoulder and then strolled to his closet. "Well," he said as he pulled out a blue shirt and a brown shirt, "I guess you'll go apologize to England and act like nothing happened. You'll have to be strong to not abandon the plan for revolution." He tossed the two shirts on his bed and then turned to his dresser. He continued to explain, "You can even help out England a little bit to throw him off, but when he questions you, just get edgy. He may hit you again, but that will just fuel you more." He dropped a pair of soft, blue pajama pants onto the blue shirt and dropped a pair of pajama pants with a Guns and Roses design on to the brown shirt. "Now," he turned to the once suited Alfred, "we've only got fourteen days to prepare you for revolution right under Arthur's nose. It should be easy if the Revolutionary War Alfred doesn't do anything."

The younger Alfred nodded, still determined, "I understand, but why fourteen days?"

"Arthur used the dark power of the new moon last night to summon you all," Alfred explained as he walked to the door, "and he needs the power of the full moon to send you all back safely. He needs to concentrate on where to send you all and when. He'll need a lot of power for that, so we're all going to help him prepare for it."

"And we have only fourteen days until the full moon?" The younger Alfred asked.

The older Alfred nodded in confirmation, "Bingo. Do you want to sleep in here? Or do you want to sleep in a guest room with some of the others?"

"It would be a little obvious if I slept in here that I was conspiring with you," The once suited Alfred bit his lip and sighed while rubbing the back of his head. "I think I'll just sleep with my kid self and my toddler self." He looked away and spoke with dread in his voice, "I still am a colony after all..."

"I hate that feeling," The older Alfred scrunched up his nose in distaste and accepted his other self's opinion.

"Alright, but if you want to come sleep in here, feel free to." He groaned, "I have to go downstairs and clean up the kitchen.

The younger Alfred offered, "I'll help you. It'll go faster that way." The older Alfred smiled in response and then walked down to the kitchen to clean up the white mess that was strewn about the floor and walls.

A shriek ripped through the house late in the night. The loud cry of the toddler Alfred followed after the child's shriek. The most modern Alfred sat up in his bed with a groan and glared at Arthur who slept peacefully beside him. Arthur had refused to sleep in the same room as the revolutionary Alfred and the cowboy, because of the possible pranks that could have been played on him. He also refused to sleep in the room with the toddler and child. He claimed that they had to grow up and learn how to sleep on their own. By the time the most modern Alfred had finished cleaning the kitchen, Arthur was already fast asleep in his bed. Alfred did not want to relinquish his warm bed for the leather couch on the first floor, so he had crawled into bed and slept.

But now the toddler and child were awake. Alfred continued to glare at Arthur's sleeping form and even poked him a few times. The most Arthur did was groan lightly and nuzzle against the pillow. Alfred huffed and climbed out of bed. He knew Arthur was awake. There was no way he could sleep through the screams of his child self and the cries of his toddler self. Alfred walked down the hall lazily to what was currently the nursery. He assured himself that he was only going to put the kids back to bed, because he was a nice person and not because he was letting Arthur continue to sleep.

Alfred opened the door to the temporary nursery and turned on the light. He yawned, "What's wrong, Alfred?" He was beginning to get used to calling other people by his own name.

The child stood on the guest bed and sobbed incoherently about a monster or witch or something of the like as the oldest Alfred picked up his toddler self and attempted to quiet him. "I w-want Arthur," the child cried and rubbed his open palms over his eyes.

"Arthur's asleep," Alfred held his toddler self in one arm and he picked the child up in his other arm, remembering the only cure for a nightmare, "so we'll have to be quiet when we sneak back into bed, okay?"

The child looked hopefully up at his older self. "We get to sleep with Arthur?" He gripped onto Alfred's shoulder and climbed up until he was sitting on Alfred's forearm. Alfred nodded tiredly before turning out the light and walking back to the master bedroom. The child buried his face in Alfred's shoulder and practically jumped down from Alfred's arms when Alfred entered the master bedroom. The toddler saw Arthur and fussed louder.

Very eager to rid himself of his copies, Alfred set the toddler down on the floor. "Alright," he sighed, "have at him."

The child ran over to the bed and jumped onto it. He landed directly behind Arthur and shouted, "Arthur!" The toddler followed the child and attempted to climb the bed, but could not. The toddler whined and ran over to Arthur's side of the bed and pulled on the covers.

Arthur groaned and pulled the covers over his head. The child took this as a challenge and shouted louder. The toddler, so tired and scared from the screaming grabbed a hold of the linen that covered the mattress and yanked it clean off with Arthur and the child Alfred tumbling to the floor. The modern Alfred covered his mouth to keep from laughing at the situation.

Arthur sat up and glared furiously at the toddler and child. The toddler and child stared blankly at their caretaker before tears filled their eyes and whines crept out of their mouths. Arthur closed his eyes and then sighed deeply. He held out his arms and fell backwards against the bed's side table when the child and toddler practically leaped into his arms.

The modern Alfred pulled the mattress cover back onto the bed and tucked it back into position. He set the pillows back into their original position as Arthur listened to what had scared the child Alfred. Arthur explained what was real, fake, possible, and impossible as Alfred made the bed. Alfred lay down in bed again and pulled up the covers, allowing Arthur and his two younger selves to get comfortable. After everyone had fallen asleep again, Alfred only woke up twice from his toddler self crawling on his shoulder when he was turned on his side.

The Revolutionary War Alfred was the first to wake up the next morning. He still kept his most comfortable, blue pajamas on as he woke up the cowboy Alfred. The two both trudged all the way downstairs and stared at the kitchen. They exchanged glances and figured that it would be nice to make breakfast for everyone before Arthur had the chance to. Away to work they went.

The cowboy gave the soldier instructions on which ingredients to grab and which pans to use. They found out the workings of the gas stove quickly, but were confused on how much of which ingredient to use. At the smell of the burning of the test flapjack, the once suited Alfred sat up from the couch. In the middle of the night, before the child and toddler started screaming and crying, he had decided to sleep on the first floor instead of in the nursery. He hated the thought of being a colony and so dependent on Arthur, so he conquered his fears and fell right to sleep on the leather couch. He rubbed his eyes and stared at his two copies in the kitchen. They seemed as though they were having some trouble.

"What's that you're making, Alfred?" The oldest colony yawned. He decided to warm up to the idea that almost everyone else in the house was named Alfred and decided to call them as such. It may turn into a joke at some point, he thought as he sat at one of the barstools in front of the half wall counter.

"Colony," The soldier grinned at the once suited Alfred before taking the flapjack off of the pan with a spatula, "just in time! We need you to test this, uh... What was it called?"

The cowboy was currently kneeling on the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen. He answered, "It's a flapjack," and jumped down with a plastic plate in hand, "What do you suppose this is made out of?"

The soldier placed the flapjack on the plastic plate and then set it down in front of the colonial Alfred, "I don't know. Surely not steel."

"Not silver or iron either. Certainly not gold," The cowboy placed his index finger on his bottom lip in thought.

The soldier waved his hands in an encouraging motion, "Well, go on, Colony, try the flapjack."

"I'm not a colony by choice," Alfred scrunched up his nose in distaste at the nick name. Though, coming from revolutionary Alfred, it was probably an insult. As the colony and the revolutionary soldier argued, Arthur made his way downstairs with the toddler cradled in his arms. The colony took his bite and winced slightly. He coughed and cleared his throat, "W-well, it's not absolutely terrible. It's just...really clumpy and uncooked in some places and burnt on one entire side. You guys should get out of the kitchen."

The soldier pouted lightly and shrugged. A new light entered Arthur's eyes and he suggested, "I could cook." All three of the Alfreds stared at Arthur, terrified as the toddler Alfred teethed on the mochi in Arthur's arms. "What? You're all used to my food." He directed his next sentence at the cowboy, "And I'm sure you miss it. I didn't see you when you were a rancher after all."

The cowboy held his stomach with one hand, hoping - nearly praying - that something would come and keep Arthur from actually cooking. At that second, everyone heard the thundering footsteps of the child Alfred. It was easy to guess that he was up and ready for some breakfast. Everyone looked to the stairs and waited for the child's energetic form to make his appearance.

The child Alfred hurried down the stairs, eliciting a startled sound to come from Arthur. "Alfred!" He shouted and hurried over to the stairs, "Slow down!" The child stopped on the middle of the staircase and looked at Arthur. "You'll fall and break your neck!"

"How many times did you hear that growing up?" The soldier asked the cowboy as he nudged his elbow into his counterpart's ribs. The cowboy snickered lightly.

"I'll be fine, Arthur," The child took a step and stopped when he saw Arthur's stern stare.

"Alfred," Arthur tried his hardest to look intimidating when he held the toddler Alfred, "if you run down those stairs, I won't hesitate to bend you over my knee when you get to the bottom."

The child shivered at the threat of a spanking. He nodded in response and held onto the banister. He walked down the stairs slowly and carefully. Alfred stopped next to Arthur and smiled up at him. Arthur smiled in response and held out his hand for Alfred to take. The child stared at Arthur's hand and then took it. The two walked over to the kitchen and the smell of the test flap jack wafted around the child.

The child's mouth hung open. He had over slept and really did want some food. Without hesitation, he yanked his hand from Arthur and climbed onto one of the bar stools and then onto the half wall counter where the once suited Alfred still sat. "I want some!" He grinned eagerly and pulled a piece from the test flap jack. He stuffed the section into his mouth and chewed quickly.

"Alfred, get down from the counter this instant," Arthur set the toddler down on the couch before going over to the child and picking him up. "You'll fall and break your neck!"

The child squirmed in Arthur's arms, no longer comfortable in them during the day. Arthur set him down on the floor and crossed his arms, completely ignoring the fact that the soldier and cowboy were snickering at his choice of words. Before Arthur could actually walk into the kitchen, the modern Alfred jumped out of bed, fear spinning in his stomach. He yanked on a shirt and wore the pajama pants that he had put on the night before. As fast as he could, he ran downstairs and slid down the banister of the last staircase. When he landed on the wooden floor, the cowboy and soldier cheered at the change. Arthur kept his arms crossed as he scowled at the display.

"Alfred, don't do that! You'll -" Arthur shouted, but was interrupted by the modern Alfred.

"I know," He continued to run and stand in the kitchen, "I'll break my neck." Alfred spoke hurriedly.

The soldier groaned softly, "You mean we'll hear more in the future?"

"I suppose so," The cowboy sighed.

The modern Alfred pulled out a fresh frying pan and placed it on the oven. Skillfully, he broke the eggs into a large measuring cup and pulled a fork out of the drawer to his left. He then faced the other copies and Arthur as he beat the eggs. "I'll make breakfast, Arthur. Just sit back and relax, I guess." Before Arthur could say anything in response, Alfred looked to his cowboy self and ordered, "Get out the bacon and then put some bread in the toaster - one piece of bread per slot." The modern Alfred stared at the yolks and egg whites merging together as he mixed them rapidly. "Soldier, go get out seven plastic plates and set the table in the dining room. Get forks and napkins with those, too." He set the measuring cup down beside the stove and walked to the sink that was in the counter opposite of the oven. "Colony," He turned on the sink and wetted his hand under the water, "go turn on the television. There's a button on it that says 'power'. Press it." Each of the Alfreds rushed to do their tasks. The modern Alfred turned to the oven and waved his soaking wet hand over the pan. The water droplets bounced, popped, and sizzled from the heat of the frying pan.

The child Alfred climbed onto a barstool to watch the show as best as he could. The once suited Alfred found the 'power' button on the television and turned it on without hesitation. The sounds of cartoon characters emerged from the television and then the color and pictures of the shows appeared. The oldest colony Alfred picked up the toddler Alfred from the couch and then set him in the bean bag chair in front of the television.

The cowboy nodded when he received his orders and searched in the refrigerator for the bacon. Once he found it, he yanked it out of the fridge and closed the door. He placed the flat bag next to the oven and then stared as Alfred poured the excess amount of beaten eggs into the pan. His mouth opened slightly as he watched how Alfred handed cooking the eggs with expertise.

The soldier opened the cupboards and pulled out seven of what he thought was plastic plates. He grabbed seven forks from the drawer the most modern Alfred had gotten his fork from and then slid open the door to the dining room. Light streamed in through the blinds and the soldier took a moment to appreciate the silence and serene look of the dining room. He shook his head to concentrate and then set the table as per instruction.

The most modern Alfred glanced at the cowboy copy and then ordered, "Did you get the bread yet?"

"Oh, no, I didn't. I'll do it now," The cowboy answered and then jogged over to the pantry. He opened the door and ventured inside. He blinked and shouted, "Holy dang! These loaves are sliced!" He pulled a loaf of bread into his arms and then jogged back to the most modern Alfred. "This bread was sliced before it was stored in this covering!"

Arthur smiled briefly at the wonder he saw in the cowboy's eyes. He looked back at the television to make sure that the toddler was fully engrossed and was amused when he saw that the once suited Alfred was enjoying the cartoons as well.

"Yup," The most modern Alfred grinned with pride as scraped the outer edges of the eggs into center of the pan with the spatula. "Can someone get me a Coke?"

The once suited Alfred answered, "I'll do it!" He ran into the kitchen and looked around. "Um," he bit his lip, "what's a Coke?"

Arthur walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a Coca Cola. He showed it to the once suited Alfred without a word before setting the cold can in the young Alfred's eagerly awaiting grasp.

The oldest colony then placed the Coke beside the bacon. The soldier returned from setting the table and stood on the most modern Alfred's left side. The most modern Alfred glanced at the bag and grinned, "Perfect! Texas toast it is! Arthur, get out the butter, biscuits, and sugar." Without a word or even a mere roll of his eyes, Arthur fetched the ingredients and placed them on the counter. "Cowboy, go grab another frying pan and a cookie sheet. Soldier, get some non-stick tin foil."

The cowboy hurried to where he got out the first frying pan and took out another along with a long flat sheet he assumed was a cookie sheet. The soldier stared at the most modern Alfred in confusion before looking to Arthur. Arthur merely opened the drawer to his right. He pulled out the non-stick foil and pressed it against the soldier's chest, giving him all of two seconds to grasp it before pulling his empty hand back. The child Alfred watched the show in awe.

"Okay," Alfred began to list instructions again, "Cowboy, put the frying pan on the stove and put the cookie sheet next to the sink. Soldier, cover the part of the sheet that's indented in with the foil. Arthur, open the biscuits." He looked to the oldest colony, "You go get the kids and put them in the dining room. There's a smaller TV in there. Put them where they can see it."

The oldest colony nodded and hurried out of the kitchen. He turned off the television, causing the toddler to be fussy and demand the television be turned back on. The colony swept up the toddler and then the child copy. The child argued that he wanted to watch the breakfast show. The suited colony made a fair attempt in forcing the children in their seats, but they kept hopping off of the chairs.

Arthur tore off the blue paper of the biscuit container and looked at his colony's failed attempts at persuading the children to sit. He sighed and shook his head before he cursed when the cardboard burst open. Once the soldier was done covering the top of the cookie sheet with foil, Arthur arranged the samples of dough on the sheet with an appropriate amount of space between them. Arthur then went into the dining room and took off the belt he was wearing. He folded it in half and snapped it, causing the child Alfred to sit properly in his chair with a squeak.

The toddler Alfred continued to struggle in his older self's arms. "Put him in the chair," Arthur told the oldest colony. The colonial Alfred stared at the belt and then placed the toddler in the seat without a word in defiance. "Get those phone books over there. About two should do." The colonial Alfred nodded and did as he was commanded. "Put the books on his chair and then sit him on top." The colonial Alfred picked up the toddler with one arm and then set the phone books down on the chair. He then set the toddler Alfred on top of the phone books. Arthur then wrapped the belt under the toddler Alfred's arms and around his chest and chair. He secured the belt on the back of the chair and watched as the toddler Alfred squirmed against the belt. "Turn on the telly," Arthur commanded. The once suited Alfred did exactly as he was told and the child's and toddler's eyes were both glued to the cartoons. "That should do it." Arthur brushed his hands together and then looked at the colonial Alfred who did not have his eyes glued to the screen of the television. "You," he said, "sit."

The colonial Alfred bit his lip in hesitation and touched the chair he was to sit in. He wanted to help his older selves prepare breakfast. It was not so much as sitting in a chair and waiting that bothered him. It was the being commanded to do so. He thought of what his most modern self said last night and how he was to act as if nothing happened. Naturally, he should cause a bit of trouble, then. "Would it be okay with you if I helped Alfred prepare breakfast?" He asked.

Arthur's eyebrows tilted up and his eyelids slid down in to a relaxed position as he pondered. "Well," he placed his hand on his chin and then glanced at the cartoon. He closed his eyes and shook his head, "No." He turned to walk back into the kitchen.

The once suited Alfred nearly scoffed before grabbing Arthur's arm. "But why not?" He asked quickly, "Surely you have a good reason!"

Arthur closed his eyes again and breathed deeply. He turned his head slowly to stare at the colonial Alfred. Suddenly, the colonial Alfred's grip felt very weak. "Because I said so. That should be the only reason you need to hear. Now, sit."

The colonial Alfred bit his lip and released his grip. Arthur took a step towards the kitchen. Alfred balled his hands into fists and then ran. He stopped between Arthur and the kitchen door. "I want a logical reason!" He shouted, "Why won't you let me help?" All the copies except for the toddler and the mochi turned to look at the colonial Alfred's outburst. When no one spoke, he shouted again, "You never let me do anything! Please let me help!"

The revolutionary soldier opened his mouth to speak, but the cowboy quickly covered it to silence him. Arthur glanced around and then let his eyes fall on the young Alfred directly in front of him. One of his eyebrows tilted up and the frown on his face was over bearing. "I don't need to justify myself to you. I should never have to. But you, Alfred, should look around. The kitchen is crowded enough as it is and you're still a child. You'll get hurt!" He stopped talking to allow his words to sink in. "Now, **sit**."

At this point, the most modern Alfred went back to cooking the eggs and beginning to place the bacon on the fresh frying pan. He opened his Coke and drank down a large gulp of it. The sound of the can's opening caused the child blink in wonder. He wondered if he could get out of his seat and see what it was. The silence was only weakened by the sound of bacon cooking and the gulping of Coke. Arthur and the colonial Alfred's eyes were locked and Arthur's eyes were narrowing more by the second. The child turned around in his chair and kneeled where one should sit. He bit his lip and then decided to break the silence, "Arthur, can I go see what that snapping sound was? Please? I wanna see!"

Arthur blinked and his stern stare was gone. He looked back to the child and answered, "No, poppet. Sit properly in your chair. Breakfast will be ready soon." The child pouted and then sat in his chair. Arthur faced the oldest version of colonial Alfred again and spoke under his breath, "Stand aside."

The colonial Alfred's stare faltered until it finally fell to the floor. He closed his eyes and then sulked over to his chair. Arthur nodded in approval of the colonial Alfred's will to submit. He walked into the kitchen and stood behind the most modern Alfred. "Alfred," He crossed his arms, "I need to speak with you."

The most modern Alfred shrugged and then ordered, "Cowboy, take the eggs to the table and put them on the plastic plates so everyone has a fair share." The cowboy nodded and did as he was told. "Soldier, take the bacon that's already made and put it in the center of the table. You two go ahead and get started on that." The soldier nodded as the cowboy did and took the plate of already made bacon to the table. The most modern Alfred and Arthur were the only ones that remained in the kitchen. Alfred continued to press the bacon down with a fork he had as Arthur walked to stand beside him. "Well?" He asked softly as to not alert the other copies.

"You need to talk to your colony self." Arthur said straight out. The oven buzzed loudly to notify that it was preheated. "I understand that it sounds a bit loony coming from me, but he is out of control."

"Take over," Alfred passed the fork into Arthur's hand and moved him to stand where he stood. He took the butter and positioned the knife over each one of the biscuits, allowing small chunks of it to fall on top of each one. Alfred then proceeded to pour sugar over the tops of the biscuits. As Arthur pressed down on the bacon in a similar way that Alfred had, Alfred rested his hand on the handle to open the oven as his other hand held the tray of biscuits. "One side," he warned, causing Arthur to nearly jump to his left to avoid the oven door opening. Alfred slipped the biscuits in on the top rack before closing the oven and setting the timer. Alfred took the fork back from Arthur and then proceeded to quickly place the ashy bacon onto a new, porcelain plate.

Arthur crossed his arms and waited for Alfred to respond. When Alfred only drank more of his Coke, Arthur scoffed and then repeated himself, "I said you need to talk to your colony self."

"I'm waiting for you to say 'dear husband'," Alfred said before sipping his Coke dry.

Arthur's crossed arms tensed as his eyes grew wide. He shouted, "What? Preposterous! If anyone's the husband here, it's me!"

Alfred shook his head and grinned, "You're definitely the female here."

"You're the one cooking," Arthur hissed.

Alfred dropped a few more cooked pieces of bacon onto the porcelain plate. "Yeah, my dad used to cook all the time - when he was with me, of course," He eyed the bacon and winced when a few specks of oil attacked him.

"You just said that I'm the male. You just admitted it," Arthur's tone was dull and exhausted from arguing.

"I'm the one that got up last night to put the kids back to bed," Alfred claimed proudly as he put the last few strips of bacon on the frying pan and tapped his empty Coke can against the counter top.

Arthur allowed his arms to fall to his sides and shouted, "You brought them with you into our room!"

"Oh, it's _our_ room, now? I suppose it's _our_ bed, too." Alfred pressed the fork down onto the bacon to keep it flat and then glanced at Arthur. It was odd for Arthur to be at a loss for words. Alfred grinned and looked completely at Arthur.

Arthur's mouth hung open and his face was covered with a shade of pink. His mouth kept attempting to form words, but his voice did not cooperate very well. He coughed into his fist and looked away.

Alfred's grin remained on his face as he placed the last pieces of cooked bacon onto the porcelain plate. He snickered as he thought of what to say next. Alfred set the spatula against the frying pan's side. He whispered softly, "Better go make our bed, my darling wife. I forgot to." He leaned to the oven's right and picked up the porcelain plate.

Arthur yanked the plate of bacon out of Alfred's hands and placed it to the stove's left. When Alfred looked at him questioningly, Arthur yanked his own fist back and let it sail through the air to pound the life out of Alfred. Alfred's eyes widened just before the fist collided with his left cheek, causing him to fall off balance. Alfred let out a grunt as he tripped and clung to the counter to steady himself.

Arthur picked up the plate, satisfied with his punch and began to walk to the dining room where all of the copies - except the toddler and mochi - stood at the door, gazing at the development in awe. Arthur looked back at Alfred who was leaning over the counter and rubbing his cheek. "We are _not_ a married couple." He looked back into the dining room. With an agitated glare, he hissed, "**Sit**."

All of the copies hurried to their respective seats. Of course, not one of them would admit that they were afraid of Arthur when he was provoked.


	4. Another One

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia Axis Powers.**

**It's been a while since I've worked on American Copies. … It's been a while since I've worked on **_**anything**_**…**

* * *

><p>American Copies<p>

Chapter 4 – Another One

Arthur sighed softly as the cool breeze gently tugged at the golden strands of his hair. His knees were pulled up to his chest and the sounds of the multiple variations of Alfred laughing and shouting seemed to blur as his brain comprehended the general locations of the boys. The sand was hot at the first touch, but as his bare feet sunk deeper, the cold sand below bloomed up around his pale skin to caress it. Despite how agonizingly bright the sun was and despite how warm the sand was, the wind kept Arthur comfortably cool – especially when paired with a light colored baseball cap he had found in Alfred's closet. Slowly, his eyes slipped open to see the shimmering waters of the lake in front of him.

The splashes and rough housing in the water urged Arthur to pay attention to the multitude of Alfreds. The greens and whites of the lake scattered with each splash and there seemed to be no immediate danger.

Arthur scanned the horizon for the youngest of the bunch. Briefly, he panicked when he didn't immediately see a toddler, but he was at ease once he saw the eldest Alfred caring for the youngest. Thankfully, the man kept the toddler in a shallow part of the water.

One, two, three, four, five, six…

Arthur's gaze fell to his left side to see the white mochi basking in the sunlight.

Seven.

It seemed that no one would die on the water this day.

Breakfast had been a rather terrorizing ordeal. Arthur could only feel anger throughout it, though the food was absolutely delicious. He had not yet told Alfred that he was an extremely accomplished cook. A slightly egotistical smile stretched Arthur's lips before weakening. It was true that Alfred had started with only his cuisine… No, even that was false. It was the Native Americans that first taught Alfred the very basics of survival. Arthur had only opened Alfred's eyes to the world – or at least to English cooking. Then one by one the other countries influenced the boy.

Arthur's smile had flattened again and he watched the eldest Alfred with a rather dull and thoughtful expression.

Was it all the time that Arthur had spent away from Alfred that gave Alfred the time to change into a combined version of various countries? Maybe… Arthur gulped softly and his arms wrapped tighter around his knees. …Maybe if he had been there for Alfred more… Maybe if he had scolded him less... Maybe if he had better ways of disciplining him- Maybe if he fed him something different- Maybe if he tried to see eye to eye with him more- …Maybe if he was different… Maybe then Alfred would have wanted to stay…

"Arthur!"

Arthur lifted his head, shocked from his consuming thoughts. His eyes were a bit wider and much less dull than they were before. Other than that, his expression hardly changed. He watched as the eldest Alfred run over with the fussing toddler in his arms.

The English man cocked his head to the side and he gave Alfred a bit of a smug smile. "Can't handle a simple toddler?" He teased.

"Ha, ha," Alfred rolled his eyes as he gave out a sarcastic laugh and squatted down in front of Arthur. "Very funny. So I put the rancher in charge of everyone while I go inside to make lunch. Can you handle this kid? He keeps fussing about something hurting and since I can't get him to tell me, I figure the Great Child Whisperer could help me out."

Arthur huffed and reached out to take the youngest Alfred from the most modern Alfred's hold. He stood and cradled the precious child in his arms. Lightly, he dusted the backs of his fingers along the powder soft cheek of the toddler. "Sunburn." He stated with a sigh. He knew he forgot to nag them about something. "I'm taking him inside. You need to go fetch some sun screen and make sure no one else gets a sun burn. I won't have you all moaning about how it stings when you're too dense to even put any protective lotion on in the first place."

Alfred's eyes widened ever so slightly at Arthur's reaction. A deflated pout formed on his expression and he walked alongside the – what he assumed to be cranky – Englishman. "Touchy," He exaggerated the syllables. The two walked in silence back up the stairs to the cabin's first floor veranda. After a few quiet moments, Alfred chose to speak. "So all you have to do is gather some magic from the next full moon and send everyone back?"

Arthur made a noise of acknowledgement before opening the door and stepping inside the cabin. As he spoke, he headed to the kitchen. "In a very basic way of saying so, yes. It's not going to be easy, Alfred. I don't have to just snap my fingers and send them on a wormhole back to their general time period give or take a few decades. Fetch me the Aloe Vera gel, would you?"

"I didn't think it'd be as easy as pie," He spoke as he went to the fridge and reached to the very back. "I hoped that you would know how to reverse it before you made the mistake of doing it in the first place." Alfred's hand grasped around the gel container and he pulled it out, placing it in Arthur's waiting hand.

Temporarily ignoring the older Alfred, Arthur concentrated on the younger Alfred's whines. "Shh, it's okay, Alfie, dear. This is going to be very, very cold, but after a while, it'll feel good, okay?" After a sniff and a nod from the young one, Arthur proceeded to spread some of the gel on the toddler's skin, earning a startled squeal from him. "Well, gee, Alfred," He looked to the most modern Alfred as he spoke, "it appears as though I'm not the only one capable of making a mistake that causes others to suffer for it."

Alfred laughed and shook his head. Normally, his laugh would be a good sign, but now it seemed to be a sign that the two nations would have yet another fight. "Don't you dare say that. Yeah, I forgot to put sun screen on the kid. Yeah, he has a sunburn now. But you're forgetting that he'll be able to be all better within a matter of days. _Me,_ on the other hand-"

"Oh, good, I was wondering how you would wedge yourself into this issue." Arthur interrupted in a bored tone as he finished up applying the gel.

"Are you _fucking_ kidding me?" Alfred raised his voice and Arthur immediately covered the toddler's ears.

Arthur shot a glare at Alfred and hissed through his teeth, "No cursing in front of him. If you want to hurl fire at me, then wait until the children are not in the vicinity. God knows you can use work on your temper." He picked up the toddler, careful not to get any of the gel on himself, and carried him to the bean bag chair in front of the television.

Alfred walked swiftly out onto the veranda as Arthur turned on the television, gluing the little Alfred to the bean bag chair. He hurried out after Alfred, prepared to argue until his throat was sore. Until they reached the Camry, Alfred did not speak a word. The only indication of his rage was his tense frame.

They halted by the car and Arthur crossed his arms, prepared to accept all the shouting that Alfred had to give. Alfred spun around to face his former caretaker. Anger was nestled deep in his eyes and it did not seem as if it would leave any time soon. "Well?" He spoke curtly.

Arthur's gaze silently looked off to the side before he frowned a bit and looked back to Alfred, his eyes narrowed in mild confusion. He shrugged.

"Where's your hazmat suit, Saint George?" Alfred asked as his he allowed his anger to take over his expression.

Arthur scoffed and shifted his weight. "You're ridiculous, you know that? Completely and utterly ridiculous."

"Oh, I'm ridiculous?" Alfred raised his voice, partially interrupting Arthur. "Me? I'm the ridiculous one? I was resourceful! I didn't like what was happening so I got some help and I got out of the situation I didn't like! I had to run my own country on my own! I have made mistakes, Arthur, I've made them! Just like any other country, I've made a lot of mistakes. And you know what else? I have become an amazing nation!" He found himself inching closer and closer to Arthur as he shouted, "Look at me! I'm strong! Everyone says they hate me or fear me or what have you but I'm great! A lot of my own people hate my guts, but does that stop me? No!" He panted a bit as he continued to speak, though his voice quieted down to somewhat of a disbelieving whimper. "Everyone can see how big I've become. Everyone can see my strength – my energy – how much I care. …So why can't you?"

Arthur could not find it within him to move away from Alfred or even speak. He remained silent, staring into Alfred's eyes with a relaxed stare. The silence had begun to grow uncomfortable. Arthur gulped softly and finally tore his gaze away from Alfred's. "… I need to use the car. I… I need to go out and fetch my supplies for the spell…"

At that, Alfred yanked the keys out of his pocket and walked by Arthur, smacking the keys against his chest and storming back to the cabin. Arthur let out a grunt and caught the keys. He gripped them and stared down at the gravel that covered the general area between the cabin and the road. The only thoughts that sprung forth was how crudely shaped the general area of the driveway was – if one could even call it that. It was an ambiguous shape with no real function other than to make it more difficult and uncomfortable to walk on than fresh piles of sand. Arthur licked his lips and headed to the driver's seat of the Camry. He opened the door before sitting down and slamming the door shut. For almost a minute, he sat there in complete silence.

Slowly, Arthur's eyes lifted to focus on the trail of gravel wide enough for only one car. What kind of a person made a driveway so tiny? It was unkempt with all the grass growing between the rocks and pebbles. Hesitantly, Arthur looked into the mirror above and off to the side from his head. It was when he saw it was empty that he realized he was terrified of seeing Alfred's face in it. His eyes slipped closed and he rested his forehead against the wheel of the Camry.

He gasped and lifted his head when he heard a knocking on the window beside him. Arthur stared at the Alfred that stood outside the car. He seemed to have a friendly smile on. Briefly, Arthur wondered which one it was. He rolled down the window and spoke wearily, "Rancher, you're supposed to be watching everyone else."

Obviously, the Alfred's smile fell a bit and he laughed nervously. "Um… It's not Cowboy. He knows where I am. Um… So I asked where you were going and I didn't really get an ans-"

"Store." Arthur answered rather curtly, "Revolutionary?"

His smile faltered yet again. "No… Not the soldier-"

"Colony." Arthur stated. If it wasn't either of the other ones, then it had to be that one. "What do you want?" At the time, he didn't realize the biting tone in his voice.

The once suited Alfred laughed breathlessly, though he hated being called Colony. "Could I join you? Maybe?" Perhaps if he could reach out to Arthur, Arthur would forgive him for being so out of line earlier that morning.

Almost instantly, Arthur denied him, "No. Go inside or back to the lake." He ordered before rolling up the window and starting the car.

Alfred froze in place as he watched Arthur drive off. He stared at the road with dull eyes and a deep frown. He hated it. At least in his own time period, Arthur would have the decency to scold him for a bit longer. Where he was now…he hardly gave him a second glance. It hurt and he hated it. With each try of being serious or helpful or friendly to Arthur, they would all be thrown back in his face and he would be a fool for trying. He did not want to anymore. He just did not want to. Alfred attempted to inhale to sigh, but he could not find it in him to breathe deeply enough. He was sure he would remain in that spot for hours if he did not hear the shouts of the two Alfreds older than him rushing up to the cabin with the child running after them.

He could try again. With a deep breath and a good attitude, he could try to be friendly again. Maybe he could even make a friend. Alfred headed up the stairs of the cabin and stood outside the door, waiting for something. He wanted to savor the last few moments in which the yells and fast talking from inside would be muffled. Taking in another deep breath, Alfred opened the door and stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind him.

As per usual, the cowboy, the soldier, and the pilot were all talking in the kitchen while the child sat on one of the barstools, watching them make lunch in awe. The once suited Alfred's gaze fell to the toddler who sat in the bean bag chair in front of the television. The mochi rested in the toddler's lap and there seemed to be a sticky pink shine to the toddler's skin.

Not wanting to question it, he walked over to the kitchen, hoping that he could be included in on whatever was so fun. He took a seat next to the child and watched – as the child so lovingly referred to it – the Lunch Show. He briefly assumed if each meal had a different show. He propped his elbow up on the counter and rested his cheek in his hand, his eyes bouncing back and forth between the members of the excited trio.

In the midst of their conversation, a shot of pain flashed through the eldest Alfred's skull. With a gasp, the nation gripped onto the counter and squeezed his eyes shut. For a brief second, he felt something close to a hot knife pierce through his right temple. He would have screamed, but the pain was gone as soon as it had arrived. The noise had stopped. Alfred looked up from the counter top to see the four copies staring at him with either a blank or worried expression. At the moment, he did not feel like sifting through the differences.

Seconds later, a crash shook the cabin. Everyone looked around frantically; trying to figure out what it was that shocked them. The eldest Alfred proceeded to assure the others that there was nothing wrong. Of course, that may have been a blatant lie, but he would have preferred his copies not be scrambled and confused. Once everyone was mostly calm, the eldest Alfred headed upstairs on his own. Save for the group of young nations on the first floor, the trek up to the third floor was quite quiet.

When Alfred reached the third floor he looked out of the wall of windows to see a stranger lying on the veranda. With a gasp, he rushed to the sliding glass door and opened it. He hurried over to the person and knelt down beside them. He would have picked the stranger up had they not shifted and groaned a bit.

"Agh…" She sat up and rubbed her sore cheek. "Hey, sorry for crashin' on your deck…" Her eyes widened lightly when she noticed the craftsmanship that went into the veranda. "Hey, are these all screws…? Well. If you're gonna build a deck, better build it right, am I right?" The strange young woman flashed a bright smile at Alfred.

At this moment, Alfred took his opportunity to observe the person. Perhaps he could try to guess who it was? He could not recognize the thick chestnut curls which bounced about her ears nor could he recognize the plump lips stretched into a grin. …But there was one thing he recognized: the wonder and determination that glittered about in her eyes. Where had he seen it before…?

Her grin faltered into a bit of a confused frown. "So… Yeah, I'm right. Nice job, bucko." With that, she used the railing to stand and held a helping hand out to Alfred. Her smile returned. "My name's Amelia. I bet you can't guess what I'm doing on your veranda, huh?"

Alfred blinked a bit blankly before accepting this woman – Amelia's – helping hand and used it to pull himself up to his feet. "Ah… Well, I think I got an idea… Your name's Amelia?" She gave a fast nod and headed over to the sliding glass door. "Right, my name's Alfred. Alfred Jones."

Amelia gasped a bit and looked back at Alfred. "No kidding? Your last name's Jones? Heh, small world, ain't it?" She stepped into the house and headed to the stairs, calling back at Alfred. "My name's Jones, too!"

Alfred followed after Amelia, closing the sliding glass door behind him. "Uh, yeah, it's a common name. Hey, don't you want to lie down for a while? You just crashed onto my veranda…"

Amelia stood by the top of the stairs and gave Alfred a brief shrug. "Well, I could sleep or I could eat. Right now I'm hungry. I'm going to eat. You can sleep, though. I'll just fix myself something easy."

Alfred paused before hurrying over to Amelia and picking her up. He set her aside and stood between her and the staircase. "Now, hold on there, Amelia. I know you're eager to eat an all, but we've got to get you looked at. You could've broken something."

Amelia rested her hands in her back pockets and she tilted her head to the side. It was a relaxed position, but she still had a considerate and serious gaze. "Thanks, Alfie." She patted his chest lightly. "Trust me, babe, I've been in tighter situations. One side." With that, Amelia stepped to the side to go around Alfred.

Quickly, Alfred smacked his hand against the wall, blocking Amelia's way. "I really think that we should get you looked at. A girl like you has got to have something broken."

Amelia pouted at Alfred, but she refused wrestle with him at the top of a staircase. "What? I gotta have something broken just 'cause I'm a girl?"

"I- No." Alfred shook his head and leaned close to Amelia, "You gotta have something broken because who the _Hell_ is gonna have everything in tact after falling from the sky into a third story wooden veranda?"

Amelia leaned back, shrugging a bit. "Yeah, I guess you're right there, but there's nothing you have to worry about." She patted Alfred's shoulder. "I'm the United States. I'm pretty durable."

At that, Alfred paused and the color drained from his face. Quickly, he turned and rushed downstairs. Amelia shrugged again and casually stepped down the stairs at her own pace. Once Alfred reached the first floor, he looked to the group in the kitchen and demanded, "Okay, where is Arthur?" It was obvious from his raised tone that he meant business.

As if on cue, Arthur opened the front door and stepped inside the cabin. His arms were weighed down by a few bags and he leaned against the front door to close it. Arthur's gaze traveled from the floor to the kitchen and then to the base of the stairs where a furious Alfred stood. "Yes?" Arthur groaned a bit before heading over to the kitchen with his bags. When Alfred remained silent, Arthur sighed a bit and turned to face the most modern Alfred from where he stood in the kitchen. Before he spoke, he saw the peculiar woman step downstairs.

Alfred merely rolled his eyes and headed out onto the veranda. Arthur quickly followed after him, leaving the underage copies in the cabin with the other only technical adult. "Okay, what the Hell, Arthur?" Alfred turned to face his former caretaker. "Why is there a girl me here? I have never been a girl in my life!"

Arthur sighed and closed the cabin door. "Damn. I was afraid of this." He looked to Alfred to see a rather exasperated expression resting on his countenance. "Alright, while I was pulling different versions of you from certain time periods, another dimension seems to have fallen into the gaping hole I made. I haven't gotten a chance to sew it up, yet."

Alfred's eyes slipped closed and he sighed heavily. "…Okay. Great. When can you send her butt back to her dimension and sew up the hole?"

Arthur took a step closer to Alfred and crossed his arms, glancing away in thought. "In thirteen days. I have to send her back when I send everyone else back, too. I have to make sure each one goes back into their correct time at the same time. After I put them back, I can sew up the hole I made." He seemed to be so confident in the thought process. He seemed to be so sure.

Alfred tore his disapproving gaze away from Arthur. "Great. Can't be too hard. We've got another adult around now."

"Yes. It should be-" Arthur took another step towards Alfred, though he was interrupted when Alfred lifted his hand.

"Hey- Arthur, I really can't be near you right now. I can't do it." Upon hearing those words, Arthur froze where he stood. Alfred could only shake his head and head down the veranda steps to the lake.

Arthur watched as Alfred headed down to the lake. He swallowed a lump in his throat before shaking his head with a mock smile. He was well aware that Alfred most likely could not stand the sight of him at the current moment and that was fine… With a sigh, Arthur headed back inside. He in no way wanted to admit that it hurt much more than he would expect it would.

Alfred stood at the edge of the water, not quite touching it purposefully, but not quite shying away when it shot up onto the sand. He closed his eyes and thought about how easy it was when he was lying on the ground in the middle of his plains. God, he wished he could be back there yesterday. He missed the simplicity. He missed not being nearly irreparably furious with Arthur. It would be awkward later on that night, Alfred was sure. He could not stand to be around Arthur and if last night was any indication on their sleeping habits, he would have to share a bed with the nuisance again.

Of course the night was much less comfortable than Alfred had imagined. The room was dark and quiet. Arthur slept on the right side. Alfred slept on the left. The child and toddler wedged themselves in the middle. Thank God the bed was large. Once every other hour, Alfred would groan softly and open his eyes. He could not be sure of what he dreamed, but the only thought that shot through his head when he saw the dark room was pleading for sleep.

Each time he woke, Alfred would oblige this thought. Each time he fell asleep, he felt himself crash back into slumber. After the sixth time, Alfred stared at the door and the sunshine that reflected against the white paint. He groaned softly and looked behind him to see the rest of the bed empty. It seemed that Arthur had already taken the kids downstairs. With a yawn, Alfred sat up and stared out the window at the nature and decided that he would need at least a gallon of coffee to fully wake up.


	5. Comatose Calm

**Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia.**

**My sincerest apologies for not updating in a couple of years. I fully intend to finish this story seeing as I have it all fleshed out. It actually won't be as long as I expected either. Please enjoy this long owed chapter of American Copies.**

* * *

><p>American Copies<p>

Chapter 5 – Comatose Calm

With the temptation of caffeine plaguing his mind, Alfred tore his gaze from the glistening waves of water which shoved its neighbors aside in a hurry to occupy the same space. His eyes trained onto the thin white sheet, and he discovered that sections of it were loosely balled in his fists. Alfred released his hold on the sheet and breathed softly. It was warm in the room with the reflections of sun shining against the walls. The fluid luminosity—he could assume—was from the lake's reflection. If it was not for the far off clatter from the first floor and the sinking feeling in his chest, Alfred would think he was still dreaming. He heaved a shuddering sigh and covered his eyes before reluctantly climbing out of bed. The sheet clung to Alfred's leg, urging the nation to return to its temptatious embrace. With a passing glance at the sheet, Alfred pulled his leg free before dragging his feet to the sliding glass door.

After a moment of heavy—though blank—thought, Alfred unlocked the window and pulled it open, allowing the cool wind flood throughout the room. The curtains flew up to ride on the air current as Alfred leaned on the window sill, not caring that he was half naked. At first he squinted at the large amount of sun spilling itself over the landscape. The breezes were quite welcome and distracting. He nearly did not notice the creaking sound of his bedroom door opening.

The silence was interrupted by new footsteps. The stranger stopped beside Alfred, and the nation did not realize who exactly it was until he spoke with a gentle crudeness to his accent. "Careful," he said, "you may make the others think you're having a good time."

Alfred glanced at the rancher, an unimpressed frown quite evident on his countenance. He remained silent simply because he did not care enough to talk. He figured that his past self could possibly guess his thought process anyway.

After yet another pause—the moment was absolutely riddled with them—the rancher rested his side against the wall, his small smile still there. It rarely left. "Why're you so angry?" He asked. It was a perfectly innocuous question and even though Alfred looked tired instead of burning with rage, the rancher could tell. He could remember the rage behind his motives—the fear and adrenaline nestled in the unknown.

Just the thought of trying to explain his feelings was enough for some of that frustration and anger to seep back into his physical being. Alfred gripped the wooden sill and looked back out at the water, inadvertently trying to rely on its tranquility to calm him. He spoke through gritted teeth, "It was stupid of Arthur to do this to me. I'm not some video tape he can make copies of. Things _happen_ when you screw with stuff like this—bad things. I could die!" He left it at that. The realization of the whole ordeal sunk in and forced him cease his talking.

After pausing for an appropriate amount of time, the rancher spoke up again, "Yeah. We could die from this. Yanking parts of someone from different time periods isn't something to mess with." His voice was lower, and his smile softened to something close to a stiff line. That managed to button the original's lips. He opened his mouth to argue back, but no sound came forth. The rancher took that moment to tack on: "Are you glad Arthur's here?"

Alfred's gaze faltered and sunk down to view the beach a few stories below the two. He could not honestly say that he was elated that Arthur was here; after all, he was still angry with him. He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, the rancher interrupted him.

"You know, you're lucky that you have Arthur around," He stated. Of course, the rancher would naturally know all about what Alfred should and should not be grateful for. "After the War for Independence, we didn't see each other for a while." For once, his lips turned down into a frown. "I never thought I'd see Arthur again." When the older version of him refused to answer, the rancher's smile gradually came back, and he began to saunter towards the bedroom door.

Immediately, Alfred's words secured the rancher in his spot, "So you're saying that I should be grateful, because I get to see Arthur." He did not wait for any sign of confirmation that the rancher was listening. "You're saying I should be grateful that I can still see my past guardian, because I couldn't see him for some time before." Alfred sent a chilling glare at his past self. "Don't you dare tell me that I should be grateful that he's done this to me. I can feel however I want. I can get angry." His voice began to rise, "I have every right to call Arthur out on his bullshit, because what matters at the end of the day is taking responsibility for your actions! I _dare_ you to stop my anger!"

The rancher watched with wide eyes as Alfred yelled at him. Once he was finished, the younger Alfred's eyes dulled a bit and his frown became evident. Speaking in a controlled tone, he challenged, "And then what?"

Alfred gulped inconspicuously. He knew his attitude was not helping anyone and it certainly was not pushing the moon along. There really was absolutely no point to his anger. Everyone knew that Arthur had done something incredibly stupid. Everyone knew that Alfred was angry. … So what then?

"You try staying mad at him for as long as it makes you happy," The rancher then turned and headed out of the bedroom. He hoped that the needless anger between his older self and Arthur would cease. Not only was it annoying, but he was approached by his youngest self, asking if Arthur and his future self hated each other. It broke his heart.

Meanwhile on the first floor of the crowded home, Amelia scrubbed the remnants of the children's breakfast from their cheeks. She nearly managed to wipe some crumbs from the once suited Alfred's lips, but she stopped when the young teenager fell backwards to avoid such a motherly interaction. More than a few times, Amelia suggested that he join her and the children as they go to the zoo and view all the exotic animals. Alfred consistently declined her offer every time she made it. He had nothing against Amelia or even the kids, but he wanted to be seen as an adult. He wanted to be seen in the same light as his older selves.

Once Amelia had left with the toddler, child, and mochi in tow, the once suited Alfred felt comfortable enough to rest his head against his arms as he sat on one of the few barstools. The kitchen counter was cold, but it was sobering—not that he was drunk or anything. No, the past couple days have been entirely too sobering. Alfred allowed his eyes to slip closed. He could hear his soldier self and his rancher self running around upstairs. It seemed like they were fast friends. When he heard someone's slow footsteps thump down the stairs, one of Alfred's eyes slipped open to stare at the refrigerator's side and gold tinted faucet. He stared at his extremely exaggerated reflection in the faucet's cylindrical surface. Alfred lifted his head, pressing his chin into his arms as his oldest copy stepped into the kitchen.

After a few minutes of being ignored, Alfred spoke up, "Good morni—"

At that moment, the older copy lifted his hand to silence the younger copy before he swallowed a pill and drunk down a glass of water. Once he was finished, he set the glass down in the sink and started to make a large pot of coffee. The once suited Alfred waited and tried to speak again, "So I was—"

"Alfred, you gotta stop talking." The older copy leaned against the counter as a headache came to plague him. "I can't take talking right now."

The once suited Alfred's heart sunk in his chest. By now, he should be used to it—being treated like a nuisance. He glanced away before sighing. He froze temporarily and covered his mouth. Did— Did his sigh make too much noise? Was his presence an added annoyance? His eyes widened when he heard Arthur's footsteps on the stairs. His gaze fixed on the counter as if his life depended on it.

The older Alfred's gaze traveled to the staircase to view his current target of severe distaste tread down—tread _warily_ down once said target took notice of the elder Alfred's (almost physically painful) stare digging into his sides. For a moment, Arthur found the honey stairs the most interesting architectural feature in his life, but it was short lived as his gaze bounced to the wall…until it landed on the eldest Alfred again. The stare grew in strength. It seemed like a glare after a second or two. Once he had managed to reach the bottom floor, the silence seemed to gradually choke him.

"Alright," Arthur hissed, sending a glare back at Alfred, "I'm going out."

Both versions of Alfred in the room was silent in response.

Arthur waited all of a few seconds before he plucked the Camry's keys from the small table by the front door. He did not utter a word as he headed out. Though the younger Alfred watched as Arthur left, the door's slam caused him to jump. The elder Alfred groaned and rubbed his index fingers against his temples. He had no intention making anything harder than it had to be today.

It was mostly silent again save for the tiny clatters of the elder Alfred making coffee. Any clank louder than necessary sent pains through Alfred's tender skull. It was damn awful. He let out a huff, forgetting his past self sitting behind him. He would have been thankful for his past self's lack of speech, but he was far too preoccupied with getting coffee _in his stomach_. The country knew that as soon as he could get coffee in his system, he would be able to function much better. God knows he had to function well; he still had a small mountain of paperwork to deal with. Originally, Alfred had planned on taking a week or so off work to relax in the mountains, but with the new addition of his past selves in his life, he could not afford to put off any government business.

"Hey—," As if on immediate instinct, Alfred held up a hand to his younger self.

"Shut it." The elder spoke without turning his back, "Go play with someone else. There's like." He closed his eyes, trying to remember all the Alfreds in the immediate vicinity, "There's like fucking three Alfreds outside. Go play with them. I'm busy." The only sounds in the room came from Alfred's finagling with the coffee maker. It was not until the front door clicked shut a minute or so later that Alfred turned around to view the now empty room. He breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, some quiet. His breath hitched when he heard the heavenly choir of drips—the proof that he would have coffee soon.

The once suited Alfred stepped quietly along the veranda. His neck did not have the strength to lift his head high enough to see the full extent of nature around him. He could hear it, though. He could hear the birds joined together in song, the tiny waves sliding against each other in a hurry to claim dry sand—oh, and the crunch of gravel beneath his feet. He could see the gravel just fine; it did not take effort to stare at the ground. Alfred breathed a heavy sigh, and he managed to look around the vicinity. It was surprisingly quiet and absent of Alfreds (save for himself). When he caught sight of the barn in the distance, he thought about the cowboy and how he might be tending to his mare.

After a moment, a tiny smile spread across the once suited Alfred's face. Yeah, he liked the cowboy version of himself. Always smiling, always cheerful. Yeah, it would do him good to be around his cowboy self. Alfred hurried over to the barn. Maybe they could talk? Maybe they could plan a day of fun? He was starting to warm up to the idea that being in the future was not so awful.

Once there, Alfred poked his head into the barn to see not only the cowboy version of himself, but also the rebellious teen. He gulped, but his momentary fear did not hold him back. He applied a bright smile to his countenance and stepped inside the barn. "Hey," Alfred waved, "what're you guys doing in here?"

The revolutionary war soldier pulled his gaze from the mare to view the stooge. Or the suited kid from his past. Same thing. "You get one guess." He stated, frowning at the person that embodied his past mistakes.

The once suited Alfred's smile faltered, but when the rancher viewed him with a plain smile, he began to gain some confidence back. "Uh, looks like you're…taking care of our horse." He shrugged, hoping that the soldier would ease up on him.

"_Our_ horse?" The soldier's gaze narrowed in distaste. "It's not _our_ horse. What's wrong with you?"

"We're all the same person," Alfred's pre-pubescent voice struggled to remain even. He had already been chewed out by his older self earlier. He did not need his other selves verbally beating him up, too.

"Hey, we are _not_ the same person," The soldier took a step towards his younger self. "Don't think just 'cause we all represent the same body of land that we're the same person, okay? I'm gonna clue you in." He darted a finger back at the cowboy and his horse. "See, that's _America_. He's got a horse, 'cause he's got a _lot_ of land _and_ he's independent from the oppressor."

Alfred's body curled in on itself ever so slightly, and he immediately took the defensive side. "Arthur's not an oppressor." He knew that it was more complicated than that. The soldier was just being an ass about it.

The soldier in question let out a laugh. "Was I that stupid? Kid, England's the oppressor. Don't pretend you can't see all the crap that you're suffering through. Don't pretend that's Arthur being extra mindful of you. What, are you gonna miss bed time stories? Do you miss the times when he stayed? And the times he'd make you meals and play with you? Huh?"

It was a mocking tone. Each sentence stabbed the younger Alfred in a different place. Was it a crime to enjoy quality time with Arthur? As it happened, he _did_ enjoy story time, he _did_ enjoy playing with Arthur, and it hurt like hell whenever Arthur had to leave. Of course, being so young, this Alfred only had the strength to throw back: "At least Arthur doesn't hate me!"

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?!" The soldier threw back his faulty argument at breakneck speed, "Of course you'd care about what Arthur thinks! You're his damn colony! I want to throw up; you're so obedient!" He uttered his last sentence with a hiss, "You're nothing more than a rug with resources. All England wants to do is tax the shit out of you."

At that, the once suited Alfred lunged at his future self, ready to clobber him. Before the two could throw fists, however, the cowboy stood between them, holding his arms out.

"That's enough!" He shouted, smile completely gone. "Ya'll need to stop being mean to each other."

"But he—!"

"_No_," For the second time that day, the once suited Alfred was interrupted, "maybe you should hang out some place else for a while, Alfred." The cowboy's main concern was diffusing the fight. Sending this youngest Alfred on his way would be the best thing to do.

The once suited Alfred gulped, angry and hurt. He looked to the soldier as tears began to bubble forth in his eyes, and he turned, storming off. Alfred ran out of the barn and to the lakeside, glaring out at the water. He heaved, and with every breath he felt his concealed rage take hold. Alfred let out various grunts and frustrated yells as he threw rocks at the water and kicked sand. After a couple minutes of rapid movement, he felt the burns of walking circle his feet. He guessed that rubbing his feet against the sand was not his brightest idea. It was not even a good idea. A bad idea. A shit idea.

He let out another frustrated grunt before he ran to the shaded dock. Alfred stopped at the edge, staring down into the green water. He could not see a thing past an inch. That was how lake water was. Dirty. Sort of gross. But green. Arthur's eyes were green. Gross and dirty. Angry. They had not looked clear _in decades_.

Alfred's heavy breathing gradually calmed down as he thought.

The modern Arthur. His eyes were hard and far more aged. He would go as far to say that they were coal colored. Mossy coal. Mossy coal? Some type of dark, cold, unforgiving green. He peered to his left at the shaded water. Lake green. Shaded lake green. Yeah. Anne Bradstreet herself could not have come up with a better euphemism for Arthur's eyes. Except. She probably could. Alfred might have embodied the settlers' views, but he could never hope to have their talents.

He let out a final sigh before taking a seat on the edge of the dock and allowing his feet to dangle. He lightly kicked a leg and felt it dip against the cool water. Alfred leaned against the dock's corner post and closed his eyes. With a steady breath and Nature's numbing caresses, Alfred felt almost comatose. It was a calm he desperately needed to achieve, and he hoped he could keep it forever. He wanted to keep it forever. The comatose calm.

Alfred's mind drifted back to when things were easier, and the most advance form of travel was a wagon and horse. Windows were the new thing. Brilliant invention, windows. They kept out the weather in covered wagons in Europe. Fancy Europe. He had only heard about it from Arthur. He had only heard about the new inventions, the history, the policies, the learnings of Europe from Arthur. Of course, he had heard other things from other countries that had visited him, but his main influence had to be England. Had to be Arthur.

Alfred remembered the huge bed he had back in the large house that was made for him. That beautiful house. With windows. Kept the weather out. Kept him dry. It did not, however, stop him from missing his caretaker—the ever absent Arthur. He remembered all of Arthur's scoldings. Alfred would hide in his room either in a wardrobe or under his bed. Arthur never had a hard time finding him when he had done something wrong.

His eyes slowly opened. At least the nature looked the same. Same sky. Alfred felt his pupils contract as he looked up at that blue, cloudless sky. The light was bright. Too bright. Too loud. It shrieked against the waters again and again. Alfred closed his eyes.

He staggered through the rest of the day mainly keeping to himself. It was far better than trying to interact with someone only to be shut down.

Even though he was witnessing the same new experience of being yanked from his time period, the revolutionary war soldier was having a _much_ better time. To be able to see all that he could accomplish in a few hundred years was astonishing to him. He loved hearing about the cowboy's stories and about his eldest form's anecdotes. It was proof that he made it.

Alfred the soldier woke Alfred the cowboy every morning. He would follow the older copy around like a lost puppy or a school kid with an immense admiration for a superior. The cowboy had accomplished what he himself set out to do. It was tremendously inspiring.

The soldier found himself pulling the cowboy to the barn every day after breakfast, and at the same time he would gripe about how every single person in the large cabin was annoying in some way or another.

Truthfully, the cowboy mainly listened. He could not pinpoint exactly who was the most trash-talked out of all of them, but the favorite seemed to fall between Arthur and the haunting memory of the colony in the suit. Well, once suited. The not-quite kid. The not-quite adult. The one that fell on the line between colonial rule and fiery rebellion.

"Aren't they so gross?" Alfred, the soldier, groaned from his place on a worn, wooden seat. He watched as the cowboy tended to his treasured horse. When he saw the cowboy give him an unsure expression, the soldier realized that he was likely not being specific enough. "The kids," He specified, "They're all over Arthur and whining about him. It makes me sick. It's all England's fault we're here. You'd think that the kids would get that." He muttered, "Stupid kids."

"I dunno," The cowboy finally spoke up as he combed his mare's hair, "kids usually miss their parents when they're gone for months at a time. It's gotta be fantastic to be able to see their caretaker again." His tone was soft, and it matched the bittersweet, shy upward tilt of his lips. "Knowing they've only got—what?—seven or eight days left with him. It's gotta make them antsy." Alfred quickly looked to the soldier sitting in the wooden chair, "O'course, the baby doesn't know it. Toddler. Ankle biter. The kid knows. The older kid knows. Hell, we all know. Are you excited to go back to 1779 and kick Arthur's ass?"

Alfred—the one sitting, staring, judging carefully—watched the cowboy with a lazy frown and contemplative eyes. "Yeah, but c'mon," He argued, "If they're smart enough to know they're going back through magic door to their time, then they gotta know that England's suffocating them—"

"Nah, I'm not talking about that right now," Alfred interrupted. "It's not a black and white decision. It only seems like that to you, because you're at war." He took a breath and went back to grooming his horse. "You know for a damn fact that we love Arthur. Right now you're so caught up in the way his bosses have been treating you, you're equating _Arthur_ with the _British Empire_."

"What're you playing at?" Alfred stood, narrowing his eyes, threatening the cowboy to say anything more on the subject. "He's the enemy!"

The cowboy tossed his horse brush down and fully faced the soldier head on. "Yeah, see, I'm not playing anything. You're talkin' bad about Arthur and the kids, but the truth is _you're _still a kid. You're a kid with a gun and a need to fight like a starved coyote."

"_HEY_," Alfred shouted and stomped a foot in order to get the conversation to flow in his favor. "Don't you dare say I'm the same as those dumb kids! That colony worships Eng—Arthur! I hate looking at him. It makes me sick that he can stand to be around him. He's so dumb! He can't understand that I need my own voice! I need a say and breaking from Arthur is going to wipe that sad representation out for good! I won't ever have to look at that dumb face again!" He heaved labored breaths. "That… I won't have to remember any of that crap because I'm _America_. Not a string of English colonies."

The cowboy watched the soldier with knowing eyes. "… You won't have to remember what growing up was like. Sleeping in that big, lonely bed in that big, lonely house in that big, lonely field. When Arthur was gone, that is. That's when it was bad."

With a gulp, Alfred took control of a firm tone, "I'm an adult now." His voice wavered despite his best efforts. "I don't need to wait weeks for Arthur's visits, because I don't want to see him."

"And he doesn't want to see you."

Their gazes were locked for all of a few moments before the soldier chose to walk out of the barn. He called back to the cowboy as he left, "I'll ask what's for dinner." It was an absolutely pointless remark. They both knew the real reason why the war torn Alfred chose to leave the barn. The cowboy let it slide, however.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm sure you can tell my writing style has changed just a little bit. I hope I was able to get across the feeling I was trying to convey this chapter (definitely sorts of pain). There will be comfort soon enough, but for now we've got various points of Alfred in crippling pain be it physical or emotional. I fully plan on writing more often.<strong>


	6. Atmospheric Disturbance

**Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia.**

**Just reiterating; I don't plan on dropping this fic especially since the ending is planned out. Speaking of which, I believe that this fanfiction will just be a total of eight chapters long. That's the projection. I was having a hard time starting this chapter, so I reread the reviews, and I figured that all the readers kind enough to take their time to read (and sometimes review) my work definitely deserve a finished story.**

* * *

><p>American Copies<p>

Chapter 6 – Atmospheric Disturbance

The evening had been tense as had been dinner and bedtime. No one spoke to each other if they could help it, save for the children, however. The children, while somewhat able to sense that (for whatever reason) the adults were not speaking to each other, wanted to be comfortable more than they wanted to be grown up. The toddler, actually, basically followed Arthur around like a lost duckling.

A new day arrived (much to everyone's relief).

The hardships of the previous day—the seventh day—were behind them. There were only seven days left together. The most modern form of America was counting down the seconds while the toddler and child were averse to leaving. Regardless of who wanted to stay or leave, Arthur was hard at work, trying to figure out a reversal spell that would work with the upcoming full moon's pure magic to put things back the way they were. Back to when Alfred rarely spoke to him. Back to the occasional visit from Francis. Back to the teasing. Well, being called a selfish asshole was not much better than being playfully teased about his physical features.

On this day—the eighth day—Arthur asked the most modern version of Alfred if he wanted to perhaps join him in a walk to the store. Of course, when Alfred asked Arthur why the Hell would he consider doing that, Amelia _immediately_ threw out that it would be a substantial walk, that she could watch the younger copies, and that both Arthur and Alfred needed the extra steps. There was something along the lines of being pudgy or pale in the urging, but either way, Arthur and Alfred found each other walking up the driveway while Amelia watched over the rambunctious Americas.

The two walked to the store in silence. Neither wanted to be particularly close to the other. Throughout their time in picking out the appropriate (and in Alfred's opinion: odd) items and purchasing them, they only remained in close proximity. By the time they left the store, clouds slowly passed overhead. They were a deep gray in color, but neither Arthur nor Alfred were concerned about having problematic weather. The weather report said nothing about a storm, so they both walked on. The wind even blew against the two to help them walk forward. All in all, it was an extremely peaceful walk. It was not hot or too sunny, and—the best part?—_there was no arguing_.

After experiencing most of the walk back in silence, Arthur decided to risk a possible fight. Maybe Alfred would be in a better mood now that he had some fresh, cool air in his lungs and quiet nature all about him. "Alfred," Arthur kept staring ahead as he talked, not daring to view Alfred's expression, "I've determined that Amelia fell through the rift. From what I can tell, it passes from above the house, and it extends over the lake a bit. I know I can sew it back up again when the full moon comes, but I'll need something of equal, alternative substance to feed it in order to get it shut up again. To balance it out, you know. There'll be some atmospheric disturbance. You'll see that in the form or rain or snow or whatever other sort of precipitation…"

When he was sure Arthur was finished talking, Alfred spoke up, "It's funny. You're talking about time and space like Doctor Who."

Arthur smiled instinctively and gave Alfred a tiny shove. "His name's the Doctor, not Doctor Who."

"That's it? Just the Doctor?" Alfred sent a small, tolerating smile to Arthur. "What do they call him then?"

Arthur pulled his gaze away from Alfred. He did not want to get his hopes up just in case Alfred felt like arguing later. "That's the joke, Alfred. No one knows his real name. He _chooses_ to be called the Doctor, because it's a name of healing. He goes around doing good things: saving lives. Like a superhero."

Alfred chose not to answer. Rather than abstaining from the conversation for spite, he just chose not to respond, favoring to listen for once.

When silence overtook them again, Arthur broke it with a soft voice—just loud enough for Alfred to hear over the wind, "Except… It's because he's lonely. He, uh… Well, his planet was lost. Killed. He was the only survivor, because he lived—through the war, that is. There was a…a huge war, and it effectively destroyed his species and the enemy species. He was the sole survivor…and since surviving the war, he wants to help life forms live." At this point, Arthur looked to Alfred to deliver the last of his explanation. "After doing something terrible, he wants to protect everyone…and get them home."

Alfred met Arthur's gaze and listened before turning his head away and choosing not to address that last sentence. It was then that Alfred felt a drop fall on his cheek. He slowed his walk ever so slightly and looked up at the angry, gray sky. His eyes widened when he saw another drop fall onto his glasses. _Damn it_. Rain was coming—oh wait, no—_atmospheric disturbance_ was coming. With one, fluid motion, Alfred slipped the couple bags out of Arthur's hand and grabbed the newly empty hand. Then he proceeded to run towards the tall cabin in the distance.

"Alfred!" Arthur shouted, clearly annoyed that Alfred insisted on sprinting through the last stretch of the walk. Despite the sudden irritation, Arthur ran, too. There was no way that Alfred was running just for kicks and giggles—not right now.

A white tear flashed through the sky, followed by a deafening rumble of thunder. They could hear the blanket of rain pouring behind them—far behind them, but gaining fast. Once he realized the true reason Alfred decided to turn the country road into an Olympic track, Arthur sped up his pace, running alongside Alfred.

Even with the fast run, they still ended up soaked by the time they made it onto the covered veranda. The only difference between the decision to walk and run was that they were not only wet, but out of breath as well. Alfred and Arthur spent a minute or so catching their breath as they listened to the rain pour down.

Alfred muttered something as he pulled off his wet shirt.

"What was that?" Arthur asked before removing his own wet shirt. He draped his over a wooden bench by the door.

"That was stupid," Alfred repeated himself as he draped his shirt by Arthur's. "Walking to the store. It was a dumb idea. You have a lot of those, don't you? If we took the car—"

"We would've still gotten wet; you haven't got a covered garage here." Arthur intended to correct Alfred while he looked through the ingredients to make sure they weren't damaged.

"_No_," Alfred argued and stood by Arthur, frowning down at him, "we would've been in and out and back before the rain hit."

Arthur let out a sigh of relief when he found that the ingredients were just fine. "They're alright." He quickly added, "Thanks for carrying them," in an attempt to get Alfred to shut up with his complaining. He briefly wondered if they should take off their trousers as well so they could dry. Nah, it probably would be better to do that upstairs in a bathroom. Lie the soaked clothing in the tub and such. It would be easier to clean up that way.

"You could kill me."

Wait, what? Arthur looked up to Alfred to see that the other was staring out at the lake. Oh, God, if he had to hear Alfred monologue about his mistake _again_—

"You could destroy all my history. And for what?" He gave Arthur a disheveled, frustrated shrug. "To see me as a child one last time." Alfred locked his gaze with Arthur's to deliver his next statement, "You're selfish." For his final blow, he pulled his gaze back out to the lake. "And stupid."

The fact that Arthur chose to remain silent was unsettling to Alfred. He hoped the other was not crying or whatever.

"England," Alfred's tone changed to something more desperate than the frustrated one used previously, "Who do you want? Which version of me?" There was a pause. "C'mon, just tell me. There's gotta be an easier way than yanking different versions of me from different time periods to try and pick the one you like best." The words cut him deeper than he had intended.

The words cut them both.

After waiting a minute for an answer and receiving none, Alfred shed off his shoes and socks before heading into the cabin, leaving Arthur effectively alone with the unintentional slam of the screen door. Arthur flinched at it. The island nation finally squeezed his eyes closed and let out a breath of air he did not realize he was holding. He breathed in, and then let out a shuddering breath.

Alfred was right. He was right, and Arthur knew it. He deserved all the mud slung at him. God knows he had not been doing any of the Americas any favors—especially from the moment he lined each physically different one shoulder to shoulder before him. He took some time to recollect himself before cradling up the ingredients and heading inside, leaving his socks and shoes out to dry.

Well, the eighth day had not been much better than the seventh, but that just meant the ninth day could be better. For Arthur, it began when he woke to light thundering. The dark in the room threw him for a brief loop since it either had to be eight in the morning or four in the afternoon. He looked to the rest of the bed, seeing it empty. Okay…it was not eight in the morning. He looked to the clock, perplexed when he saw the true time.

"Twelve…?" He murmured to himself before climbing out of bed and pulling back the curtains. Arthur looked to the dark sky, and then it dawned on him. "Ah. Atmospheric…stuff." The word refused to come to him. He was still just waking up. "Disruption. Disruption?" Ah, it did not matter. Arthur proceeded to dress for the day—well, the afternoon.

After brushing his teeth and running his fingers through his hair, Arthur treaded downstairs. Briefly, he slowed, remembering the previous day. Brilliant. He had not had a day in the cabin free from ridicule. Surely, he would be given some sort of break today? Arthur figured he had made progress with Alfred yesterday, had he not?

He stepped off the staircase upon reaching the ground floor and viewed the main living area. As per usual, his very young Americas were glued to the television screen. …That little white thing kept an eye on the television as well… Mochi, he thought. It was a mochi. Oddly enough, the entire couch was claimed as well, but… Something was wrong about the picture. Arthur tilted his head as he viewed the soldier, the eldest colony, and the cowboy all seated on the large, leather couch, but they were as far away as humanly possible from each other. The cowboy had lounged against the left arm, but he was scrunched up against it as if any other cushion was stuffed with asbestos. The soldier, on the other hand, had the right arm seized. He, as well, was tucked into the couch's corner, clearly against the idea of touching _anything or anyone_. Lastly, the eldest colony sat up straight and stiff in the direct center of the couch. _Clearly, _something had happened between the three of them.

Unfortunately, Arthur had no time to figure out what. He was more fixated on what sort of ground he was on with his time period's America. With little effort (and some clever maneuvering around the couch to avoid drawing attention to himself), Arthur made his way over to the kitchen. It appeared as though Alfred was making some sort of meal. Lunch, he supposed.

"Alfred," Arthur spoke quietly enough to keep the other Americas unaware—or he attempted to, "what's the story?"

Alfred, who was at the time trying to imitate a world class chef, looked to Arthur with a cautiously confused expression. "What do you mean?" He asked. "Which one?" Arthur opened his mouth, but Alfred beat him to the punch, "The one where you try to make yourself look like a superhero even though you pulled some serious shit?"

With that, Arthur's mouth closed, and he dragged his gaze from the ceiling, to the side of the room, to the suddenly, very interesting floor, and lastly to land on Alfred's chiding stare. He kept his quiet tone (despite the fact it being one of the hardest things he has ever had to do—recently), "I'm trying to be civil here. I don't want to fight in front—"

"The kids won't mind," Alfred interrupted Arthur as if it was his expertise—which it sometimes was. "Don't worry, _Ma_, you're good. Just fine. Everyone makes some mistakes, but yours," He let out a bit of a laugh, "_you've_ made some pretty choice mistakes."

Okay, he was done now. Arthur lifted hands up and turned, heading for the door. He had no intention of returning any snide comment Alfred had to throw at him (no matter how much he really wanted to). He had absolutely no ground to stand on in this argument, but Alfred did not have to be a gigantic dick about it.

"Hey," Amelia called after Arthur from the bottom of the staircase, "where're you going? Don't you want lunch? Well— Breakfast for you, Rip."

This was it. He was cut off. Arthur would have to suffer through more berating. He gave Amelia a bit of a shrug and answered that he was not feeling hungry, but Amelia guided him back to the kitchen regardless.

Much to Arthur's grateful surprise, lunch was civil. Arthur and Amelia chose to eat at the kitchen's bar. The Americas pulled from previous times opted to eat while watching television. Alfred chose to eat in his office along with his substantial amount of paperwork.

Once the rain stopped, Arthur insisted that the different Americas take an outside break. It was not as if they did not go outside often, but Arthur wanted to seize the moment to be away from his time period's Alfred. He would be damned if he allowed himself to be yelled at again today.

The group moved quickly to change into suitable outdoor clothes before venturing out into the wet environment. The majority of them chose to spend time in the lake water. Amelia personally saw to it that Alfred the soldier and Alfred the cowboy were at least a little bit more interactive with each other. Arthur kept an eye on everyone in the water—especially the toddler and child who were splashing about in the shallows.

When Arthur heard the sand shifting beside him, he looked to his left to see the eldest colony. Oh—well, he was watching almost everyone. His mind was also clouded. No big deal. "There you are," Arthur spoke up, "I was wondering where you got off to."

"_Really?_" The eldest colony asked with genuine surprise in his voice.

Arthur did not have the heart to tell him that he truly did forget him temporarily. "Yeah, really. Go ahead and play in the water with everyone else, so I can keep an eye on you all at once."

"Um," Alfred the colony hesitated, and Arthur internally groaned, "Actually, I was wondering if I could stay here? And talk with you, maybe?" He took a seat by Arthur.

Briefly shaking his head, Arthur gestured towards the water. "Could you go play? I'm trying to think here. Occupy yourself or something. I've got a substantial amount of pressure on my mind right now." He stared out at the water, expecting the eldest colony to find his way into his view any second.

A pause took place before Alfred murmured, "I don't want to bother you, but you haven't really been the best lately."

Oh, for the love of God. He was going to be lectured by his past colony. How in the Hell did he end up deserving this? "Alfred," Arthur groaned a bit, "truly, I've got a lot on my mind. I don't need this now. I've got enough stress."

"Alright, fine," The eldest colony answered, seemingly angered. "I get that you made a huge mistake, but you don't have to be mean. I know that I don't really matter to you—"

Wait. What?

"I get that everyone else has needs more than me, and you'd rather take care of them. I know you're probably trying to reconnect with parts of me, but you don't like _me_. This me. From my time period me."

When did he ever say _anything_ like this to his past colony?

"So I just wanted to say…" He briefly muttered, "Well… I wanted to yell at you and say mean things back, because… Everyone's a jerk around here. I don't like the others. They're bullies." Alfred pulled his legs up to his chest. "The part of me from your time period and the soldier. They're mean. …_You're_ mean. You've _been_ mean."

"Alfred, that's enough," Arthur answered quietly. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. He hated the idea of hurting Alfred—any version of Alfred, but his twenty-first century Alfred's existence depended on his past self wanting to rebel and become his own country. Should Arthur give in and comfort Alfred _now_ and risk destroying his time period's Alfred, or should he continue to be an emotionally abusive and controlling ruler over him in order to inspire his rebellion? Well… He was only actually emotionally abusive just recently… That whole taxing without representation in parliament was one thing that mainly bent Alfred out of shape, he knew. It killed him, but Arthur needed to remain distant. He could ease up on the controlling hand, but his time's Alfred depended on the past Alfred's breaking away from him in order to exist. "…I'm sorry to hear that you've had a terrible week. You aren't the only one. I'm afraid you'll have to grow thicker skin seeing as it's a very _mean_ world out there. You need to be prepared for it." Hopefully that response would be jerk-ish enough to keep Alfred angry with him, but partially comfort him…? It was very difficult trying to manipulate Alfred to break away from him when his past self fought so hard to keep him.

After a moment, the sand beside Arthur shifted as the eldest colony stood. "Thanks," Alfred spoke as he brushed the sand off his body. His tone was curt, clearly suggesting that, that was _not_ what he wanted to hear, but it was certainly better than nothing.

At the sound of thunder in the distance, Arthur lifted his head to see the dark clouds in the sky. "Mm. On second thought, you'd better go back inside. Get a head start so you don't get wet from rain."

"Oh, so I need to get used to the world being mean, but God forbid I get wet?" Alfred spoke with attitude (of course he had all the right to).

"Oi," Arthur stood and spoke in a warning tone, "Don't give me lip. You'll need a bath if you get wet. Go on." Annoyed that he still had to follow Arthur's orders, the eldest colony huffed and headed inside. It was good to see that Alfred knew when to question authority. Sometimes. Arthur looked to the group of various Americas in the lake. "Hey," He called to them, "Time to get out! It's going to rain again!" Damn atmospheric disturbance—so erratic.

Amelia sent Arthur a wave before herding the other Americas back onto the beach. She scooped the toddler up in her arms and pressed her hand against the child's back in order to guide him up to the house. The soldier treaded on ahead behind Amelia, pointedly staying away from the cowboy. Ach. Arthur might have to address that at some point. He was not looking forward to that. He paused, however, when he saw the cowboy rubbing and scratching at a spot on his chest.

"Alfred, wait," Arthur said, resting a hand against the cowboy's shoulder. "Show me what's on your chest there."

"S'nothing, Arthur," Alfred the cowboy answered, intending to move on.

Arthur gripped Alfred's shoulder, giving him a judging expression. "I asked you to show me, so show me." At that, Alfred hesitantly moved his hand from his chest to show Arthur a light, diagonal scratch across his chest. It could only have been three or four inches in length. "Mm, at least it's not deep. Go ahead and put some peroxide on it when you get inside. It'll sting, but it'll clean it properly."

Somewhat surprised that Arthur took an interest in his well-being, Alfred hesitantly nodded. "Y-yeah. Alright. I'll do that. Thanks." He waited until Arthur removed his hand from his shoulder before walking on to the veranda.

Needless to say, it was a challenge getting the children changed, but the cowboy, soldier, and eldest colony managed themselves just fine. Of course, the promise of rain meant that the Americas would be glued to the television screen again. No matter. It would give Arthur time and energy to combine the ingredients necessary for the spell he would need to cast in five days.


	7. The Breakaway Plan

**Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia.**

* * *

><p>American Copies<p>

Chapter 7 – The Breakaway Plan

Day nine had passed quietly. Arthur and the Alfred from the twenty-first century avoided speaking to each other. Arthur did not want to risk another fight. Alfred was busy tending to his migraine and paper work. Day ten would be better. Surely.

The rain outside only contributed to the heavy, evening air. Amelia inhaled the humidity in a slow, even breath from where she sat on an old, wooden chair in the stables. The rain mesmerized her as it poured from the skies, urging her into a lethargic mindset. She pulled one leg up and then the other, wrapping her arms around them and loosely locking them into place. Amelia's eyes slipped closed and remained that way even as she heard footsteps in the fresh mud just outside the stable's entrance. She guessed the mud made it just uncomfortable enough for the stranger to struggle with walking. When she heard the sudden inhale and then the slightly exaggerated exhale, she knew for sure it was Arthur. It seemed he was not as at peace with the rain as she was.

Amelia's eyes slowly opened just enough for them to take in the necessary light to record Arthur's location and expression. He was standing still and keeping his gaze on everything except what was right in front of him. She would say he seemed shy, but then again Arthur was not typically a shy person. Maybe he was annoyed or unsettled.

When the silence became a bit peculiar, though it was still comfortable, Amelia spoke up. "Hey," She whispered. It was entirely unnecessary for her tone of voice to be so soft, but it was a pleasant change from Alfred's harping.

At first, Arthur was unsure if he would answer or not. Although he wanted to avoid talking at this point in time, he decided to indulge. "Afternoon," He allowed his gaze to be pulled from the oh-so-interesting nail in the wall to rest on Amelia's hunched posture. His eyes were dulled with age, dulled with violence, dulled with so much. It was most evident.

Amelia's eyes were similar: aged, desensitized, knowing. After a few moments of silence, she patted the woven seat of the wooden stool beside her. She had no grudge against Arthur. She had no need to be angry with him. Everyone else had done that enough already. It was time for something other than blame.

A hint of a smile tugged at Arthur's lips. Most gratefully, he stepped closer and eased himself down on to the stool. It was silent again. Arthur moved the open umbrella into an optimal drying position. There was little to do, but it gave Arthur's hands something fiddle with, and that was good enough. "…Amelia, I'm sor—"

She grunted and frowned, her face scrunching up just a bit with displeasure before relaxing. "I know," Her tone was still relaxed, though it was no longer a whisper. "I get you're sorry, Arthur. I do." She sighed softly and lifted her head to rest her chin on her knees. "But right now we're watching the rain, okay?"

He gulped lightly and looked out at the rain. The dismissal in no way helped, but he did suppose he had been apologizing for quite some time. To be honest, Arthur was sick of it. He was sick of the entirety of his error, and he was finished trying to apologize for it. He did not notice his hunched shoulders and his frown until Amelia's fingers entwined with his and woke him from his thoughts. Arthur looked back to her with an expression of relaxed surprise.

A warm smile was nestled on her face, and her thumb soothingly stroked against Arthur's own. Her expression could never be seen as a countenance comprised of malice, disgust, or even pity—especially when paired with the pure affection that twinkled within in her eyes. Something about it lifted a weight from his chest, and he wanted nothing more than to be embraced by the peace she had to offer. He found himself leaning closer to her (if only to embrace the feeling of pure affection after such a long time without it), causing her eyes to open wider before falling closed.

Arthur gently pressed a kiss to Amelia's soft, waiting lips. He pulled back just enough to gauge her reaction. He himself smiled and found it much easier to breathe. It was so welcome to him—the soft gestures, the closeness. He needed it more than he had previously realized.

The most reaction Amelia returned to him was a calculating gaze and something like a smile. She rested her right thigh against the chair's seat as her right foot planted firmly against the ground. Tilting her head, Amelia leaned towards Arthur and gave him a deeper kiss that required a bobbing movement of her head as her lips caressed his.

They had a brief break that lasted all of six seconds. As Arthur shifted to move closer to her, Amelia's smile widened, though not from pleasure. She released Arthur's hand and pressed her own against his chest to keep him at bay.

Arthur's eyes would have been filled with confusion had there been innocence in them. He was no stranger to this kind of development, so he remained at bay. Evidently, it seemed over—the affection. "What's wrong?" He asked, not exactly thrilled they stopped, but he knew far better than to continue on without full consent.

Amelia's pained smile softened, and she lifted her shoulders as she pulled her hand back to rest over the other at her shin. "…I like you."

Well, that was not a problem at all. Though it still begged the question as to why they stopped. Arthur leaned back, relaxing in his lack of posture. "That hardly seems like a reason to stop." If there was any bite in his words, he certainly did not mean it.

She laughed softly; it was quiet and relaxed—and so gentle. He was right, but only on the surface. "Well… As I said, I like you, Arthur." Amelia brought her right leg up to her chest again. "But… I really miss my world's England." She breathed out a sort of shuddery sigh. "You see, I'm not really attracted to you, because you're not from my world."

"I thought we had the same personalities despite us being in separate worlds," Arthur gave Amelia a look of slight confusion. He could have sworn that nearly all of the Americas had a similar thought process.

Amelia's smile remained on her face as she shook her head. "I don't think you get it." She stated before thinking of a different way to phrase it. "I'm not really attracted to you in that way…, because you're not _her._"

Oh, that made more sense. Arthur lifted his head in understanding. "I see," He answered. After a moment's hesitation, Arthur gave Amelia a smile and held his hand out to her.

She stared at his hand for a moment or so before entwining her fingers with his again and allowed the hand holding to commence. Arthur sighed silently and contentedly. Affection. Care. Arthur missed it so much. He missed this side of his Alfred—the caring side. He never saw it often, true enough, but he feared that he would never see it again. He certainly never deserved to see it again. He never deserved to see Alfred again regardless.

Quickly, he gulped and forced himself to stare out of the barn's entrance. The rain (atmospheric disturbance) continued to fall. Arthur used the warmth from Amelia's hand to ground himself to reality.

He hated the idea of letting go. He always had.

After a few minutes spent watching the rain, the two decided to pack it in. Amelia slipped her flip flops on, and Arthur brandished his umbrella once again. Getting the hint that Arthur still needed a moment or so of comfort, Amelia plucked the umbrella from Arthur's hand and held it above them both. Their walk back was less than successful. Amelia's feet were muddy. Arthur's shoes were muddy. Both individuals sported half soaked bodies despite the umbrella's best efforts to shield them. It was fine, though. They discarded their shoes outside the front door as well as the umbrella and ventured around the veranda to the lake front side. Amelia volunteered to spray down both of their feet with the hose. It would be better to walk inside with wet feet rather than muddy feet.

Eventually, the two made it back inside.

"I'll take the third floor bathroom. You can have the master bathroom." Amelia gave Arthur a wave to let him know she was talking to him.

Arthur watched briefly as Amelia hurried upstairs. "Sounds good," He called after her. Before moving upstairs, however, he surveyed the immediate vicinity. It seemed that the young Americas had become very adept with controlling the television, and it seemed that the cowboy elected to watch the younger ones. No doubt the soldier and eldest colony wandered off somewhere to be alone. Teenage angst and all that. …Not that Arthur was without angst.

He shook his head lightly and shrugged before heading upstairs. All he needed was a hot shower, a scenic view, and a hot cup of whatever soothing liquid Alfred had in this cabin be it water, tea, or even coffee. He needed grounding. He wanted grounding. He would need to speak with Amelia after they finished drying off and getting dressed. Now that Arthur had found some semblance of a…home…he wanted it for as long as possible.

After staggering onto the third floor, Arthur made his way down the long hall to the master bathroom. Damn it, why did this hall have to be so damn long? Alfred could have afforded to shorten the distance, could he not? Arthur huffed, smacking a hand against the doorframe to stabilize himself.

Everything was fine.

Arthur helped himself into the master bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him. He moved to the second door as he dragged his hand against the shower's glass and locked that door as well. Sure, he was fine. He just—needed assistance gripping onto the shower. No problem. None indeed. Those tricky showers. Always pulling that anti-gravity crap.

_Anti-gravity crap._

Arthur yanked off his shirt and tossed it into the tub along with his trousers and underwear. He needed a cold shower immediately. He was sounding ridiculous. In-his-own-mind ridiculous, but he was not about to tolerate the idea that showers legitimately have it out for him.

As fast as he could, Arthur stepped into the shower and turned it on, relishing in the sudden cool water that smacked against his skin. Well, the first few seconds were nice, the fourth second was tolerable, but after a few more moments, Arthur yanked the handle to the left. When hot water rushed over him, he let out a groan of relief. Oh, he knew that there were times in his life in which he would give up a limb for a peaceful shower and a good night's rest.

Now was not one of those times.

But he could relate.

Instead, now. Rather than feeling rushed and about to fly off into space, Arthur gathered the heat. He gathered it. He stood still, of course, and let the water rain down on him, but his body actively absorbed the heat until the air he exhaled seemed cold. It was difficult. Difficult to breathe, that is. It was…getting harder. Arthur found himself sliding down to the tiled shower floor, and he leaned his back against the freezing glass, letting out another groan as he felt the cold sting.

Okay, that was enough. That was plenty.

Arthur used all his strength to turn off the shower and pull himself out of the glass semi prison. He pulled an unused towel from the towel rack and dried himself vigorously. Arthur figured that if he had his strength now, it would be best to get as much done as possible with it. After wrapping the towel around his waist, Arthur unlocked both doors and managed not to fall into the master bedroom.

As the sun set, Arthur hurried to pull on fresh clothes. He only managed to yank on pajama pants before he felt his strength leave. He picked a random shirt from Alfred's closet just as the nation in question opened the bedroom door. Arthur pulled his attention from the navy blue shirt to see Alfred looking at him with an exasperated expression.

Arthur was feeling as detached from reality as ever.

It was frightening more than anything, but he put all his energy towards not showing the dread. He looked Alfred up and down before slipping the comfortable, navy shirt on. "Alfred. How's work?" Hopefully the question would urge Alfred into a spiel, leaving Arthur with only the responsibility of nodding every so often.

Much to Arthur's surprise, Alfred looked away and gave him a shrug. "Sucky. I like relaxing when I come here." He glanced at the shirt Arthur was wearing, and he lifted his chin briefly to acknowledge the graphic tee. "I like your shirt, by the way. Didn't know you were such a hardcore Captain American fan."

Confused, Arthur looked down at the vibranium shield pattern across his chest before rolling his eyes and moving to pull the shirt off. Anything would be better than Alfred's incessant teasing. Almost immediately, Alfred took hold of Arthur's wrists. It was not a painful hold that inflicted fear, rather…it was another ground. When their eyes met, Arthur pulled against Alfred's hold, giving him a displeased look. "Unhand me," He spoke with a voice that was tired instead of angry.

"Wow, you can't pull away from me?" Alfred asked, tilting his head. He seemed pleased with the information. "What the hell happened? You've gotten pretty weak."

Arthur scoffed and decided to actually try and pull away from Alfred. "Shut the fuck up, Alfred. I'm not weak. You're just being an arse." In addition to not wanting to be so close—so vulnerable—to Alfred, he was sick of the nation's harping.

"Yeah, you are," Alfred argued, seemingly enjoying the situation. He did not seem angry, but he took his time, thinking it funny that Arthur's yanking could not hold up to his own strength.

While dread and fear seemed to run through Arthur's veins, panic and frustration filled Alfred's thoughts. What the actual fuck was he doing? What—did he think that making fun of Arthur would make him feel better at all? Was the cure for a fragile relationship pointing out a partner's flaws and laughing at them? What was he doing?!

"This is annoying; let go of me right now," Arthur spoke slowly and demanded to be released.

This is bad. This is bad.

"No," Alfred heard the words tumble from his own mouth with an obnoxious confidence infused in each one, "You can't tell me what to do anymore—not since the 18th century." He felt his heart squeeze as he watched Arthur's angry expression fall into one of shock.

This is worse. This is worse.

Before a poker face could develop, Alfred managed to fight through his inconsiderate exterior.

The next thing Arthur knew, Alfred's hands were on either side of his head, almost clutching it, and he felt Alfred's lips pressed against his forehead. They remained there longer than any gentle kiss would have lasted—just a few seconds longer. Once done, Alfred turned his head and rested his cheek against Arthur's forehead. Arthur, on the other hand, was still in shock by the sudden movements and the sudden closeness. He stared straight ahead, only just realizing that his arms were still held up from when Alfred had his wrists hostage. Arthur allowed his arms to fall to his sides. He took this moment to become very aware of his immediate surroundings. The gentle pressure on either side of his head seemed…desperate—rushed. Regardless, it was something he had not received from Alfred in so long.

Finally, Alfred spoke, "I don't want to fight." His tone lacked the cockiness it had moments prior. "I… Arthur, I'm sorry…for the—the revolution shout out. It… I shouldn't have thrown it in your face." He paused before adding, "Again." The taller nation was afraid to peer down to see what Arthur thought of his words. He wanted to wait at least a minute to find out, but after his silence, he felt Arthur inch closer and hesitantly reach his arms around Alfred's torso.

A hug.

Arthur was trying to give him a hug. Relief overflowed within Alfred, and he allowed his hands to fall in favor of letting his own arms circle Arthur's weary frame. He rested his head against Arthur's, their cheeks pressing together.

There it was. The affection, the care, the grounding— It was absolutely perfect, just what Arthur wanted—what he feared he could never have again. He still felt like he may disappear, but he poured his trust into Alfred to keep him firmly planted on the ground.

They did not realize that they were essentially squeezing each other until Arthur took in a gasping breath. Once understood, Alfred gently eased up on the embrace. He pulled back just enough to see Arthur's face. Alfred's eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise. "Hey…," He asked, "are you crying? Shit, really—I am sorry about the…the throw back, okay?"

Arthur shook his head. "No, no, it's not about that." His voice was slightly hoarse as he attempted to explain. "I just. I never thought… I…" His mouth remained open, trying to find the words, until Arthur looked back to Alfred, electing to close his mouth. He took in a calming breath. "…I thought it was over. Our… Our interactions and…," What was a word that described 'relationship' without meaning _relationship_…, "care." Perfect. Brilliant. "I thought that we would be dead to each other after we send—" His erratic breaths interrupted his last sentence, and Alfred pulled him close again to help calm him.

"Hey, hey," Alfred tried speaking in a gentle tone, "s'not like you just dumped me with…all of me and ran off. I'm not letting you off the hook easily, Dude, 'cause you did pull some serious shit, but sure as fuck, we're not dead to each other, okay?" He shook his head slowly and whispered, "No, never dead to each other." Alfred continued to hold Arthur close if only to soothe him (and quite possibly himself, too). The taller nation pulled away just enough to rest his lips against Arthur's forehead again. His eyes slipped closed, and he remained there, basking in the closeness, warmth, and stability.

Too soon, Alfred pulled away from Arthur. Both felt significantly better than they had before, but neither of them truly wanted to feel the absence of warmth again. They lingered within a foot of space, only an inch between each other at any one time. Alfred broke the silence. "We're going to work together to send everyone back to where they came from, and we're going to fix that rift above the cabin so no crap gets through—sound alright to you?"

Arthur nodded. A smile graced his features. "Yes. I'd much rather have help than pessimistic com—" He froze when he saw who was standing in the doorway behind his time's Alfred. "Alfred," He gave the America that stood there an overly friendly (and nervous) greeting.

"You kissed him." The America that stood there seemed to curl in on himself with disgust. "I cannot believe— You kissed him!" What was the world coming to?! "It's all his fault that we're all gathered here together, and you just— No. No. This is. No." The two, startled individuals could only assume that the disgusted American must have been the revolutionary war soldier.

Before either adult could explain, the witness fled. The two looked to each other. Concern flashed on their faces, and they hurried after the Revolutionary America.

The witness, on the other hand, rushed downstairs to where all the other Americas were and stood in front of the television. He received complaints from the children and initially disgruntled expressions from the eldest colony and cowboy. It was when the most modern America and England made it to the ground floor that the Revolutionary America thought it fitting to out them. The angry Alfred—the television blocker and therefore not the current favorite—darted a judgmental finger at the most modern Alfred and Arthur. "HE KISSED HIM," He all but shouted.

There was silence as the other, younger Alfreds looked to the two adults in question.

"I saw it with my own two eyes! Alfred kissed Arthur! And he hugged him for a long time, too! What's _wrong_ with you?!" His upper body tensed as he was caught between strangling air and running his hands furiously through his tousled hair. "What're you doing being nice to him?! It's all _his_ fault that we're all here together! Have you gone mad?!"

The absence of speech was filled with the Revolutionary Alfred's labored breathing.

"You did what?" The eldest colony asked, borderline disbelieving what his copy had to say. "I thought…" He looked to the Revolutionary Alfred. "No, it's okay. He's just going along with—" He spoke softer, "Going with the plan. You know. The Breakaway Plan."

"What?" The soldier asked, clearly annoyed, "What breakaway plan—" His anger left him, and his hands fell. "Oh… Right. But." He was confused, now, and that was not much better than his anger, but the cabin's inhabitants would take it. "But he's already broken away from him. Well— I mean, I'm doing that now. Trying. If I wasn't _here being forced to watch my future self kiss Arthur_."

At this point, Arthur turned to the most modern Alfred with an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed. "What breakaway plan, Alfred?" He only gave Alfred a few seconds to respond before speaking, "I cannot _believe_ that you're conspiring with your younger selves to leave my younger self in the past. You are unbelievable."

What? What the hell happened to the Arthur that was clinging to him mere moments ago? The most modern Alfred scoffed and argued back. "Are you kidding me? What happened to just a few minutes ago? I _just_ said I didn't want to fight with you, and, now, you're going to make a big deal out of me pushing for the American War for Independence? Are you serious right now?!"

The soldier seemed a little more relaxed when he saw the two argue.

Arthur glared at the most modern Alfred and further contributed to the fight, "That was in the past! How dare you do something like this? This is inex—" He paused and looked to the children—both of them had wide, worried eyes. Arthur bit his bottom lip and flashed them a relaxed smile while at the same time gripping the most modern Alfred's arm. He looked back to Alfred and whispered, "This is inexcusable. He's just a young colony." He yanked Alfred upstairs to the second floor and out onto the second floor veranda—all the while lecturing him. Once the sliding glass door closed, Arthur lost his angry expression, and he released his hold on Alfred's arm.

"Arthur, what the fuck?" Alfred took a step or two away from him. "What's gotten into you? I thought we were cool."

Arthur rubbed his eyes, tired. "We _are_ cool, Alfred," He answered, looking to him with a thoughtful expression. "The only way out of that situation with everyone happy—or unchanged, rather—was arguing with you and taking on the form of the Lecturing Mother Country."

At that, Alfred adopted a more relaxed expression. "… You mean, you—"

"I," Arthur interrupted, but he had no sentence to continue with. He struggled for words.

Alfred lifted his chin in understanding. "… You're pushing my younger, colony self into rebellion…, aren't you?"

* * *

><p><strong>On that note, let me say that next chapter will be coming out either on Monday the 20<strong>**th**** or Monday the 27****th****. Or if I take my laptop on the family vacation, it'll come out on schedule. Have a good week! And (as always) thank you for reading!**


	8. The Cutlass Cut

**Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia.**

**I'm so sorry for the late update, but chapter nine will be up on Thursday—I promise. I would like to apologise for the fact that both chapters eight and nine are a little short, but it was either a page short or…well, a thirteen paged chapter. It turns out there actually may be **_**ten**_** chapters of this fic instead of just eight. Please enjoy!**

* * *

><p>American Copies<p>

Chapter 8 – The Cutlass Cut

Arthur looked away and rested a hand at his neck for some form of stability. "… Yes," He whispered, "I'm trying to manipulate your younger self into rebelling against the British Empire."

Alfred spoke in an equally soft voice, "… Why would you do that? You were against it from the beginning. What changed?"

Arthur crossed his arms and gripped them, glancing around. He looked inside the house before grabbing Alfred's arm again and yanking him to the veranda's corner—out of sight. "I…" He finally met Alfred's gaze and spoke with more confidence, "It was impressive. A colony found help in the form of other countries with grudges against me and overthrew my control."

"Hey," Alfred narrowed his gaze, "don't put me on a pedestal, okay? There are a _ton_ of nations that broke away from their mother country; I am not the only one." He glanced away, dragging his eyes over the horizon before allowing them to land on Arthur again. "What's your real reason?" He asked.

Arthur shook his head lightly and shrugged, attempting to avoid the question. "That wasn't a lie. I am proud that you were able to break free of my control. …Even if I do get sick every early July."

"That's not the full truth. C'mon. Spill it." Alfred kept his firm gaze on Arthur. As Arthur opened his mouth, Alfred's body went rigid, and pain shot through him. He clutched his head and let out a pained yell. "Fucking migraine," He hissed. He vaguely felt Arthur urge him inside and up the stairs.

The sounds—even the quiet ones—jarred him, and before he knew it, Alfred was lying down on the master bed's sheets. He dared to open his eyes even despite the pounding pain in his head. Arthur stared down at him, concern lacing his features. Alfred gasped as he felt something strike through his forebrain. Not something physical, he figured. He hoped.

Regardless, he blinked once, twice, but on the third blink, his eyes remained closed. Everything remained dark. Everything seemed cool. Then cold. Alfred looked down at his body and at the white substance that paved the ground in uneven mounds. He glanced around the—what he assumed to be—void.

"Snow?"

Alfred pressed a hand against the white powder and concluded that it was indeed snow. Snow. Where was he that there was so much snow? Well— He was in Colorado. It snowed a lot in Colorado.

He looked around again, standing this time.

There was no sky. Just dark. Just black. Colorado skies were not like this. Colorado skies were Nature's gorgeous masterpieces. Not dark. At least not without stars, but there were no stars. There was no moon.

Alfred squinted at the void. It seemed that there was a sliver of something in the sky just in the distance. Just over the hill. Alfred walked towards where he saw the crack in the sky, and he climbed to the top of the hill. He saw a glimmer of blue with blinding light flickering throughout it. There were mixes of greens as well. And some wood. It… It almost looked like the cabin…upside down?

Alfred gasped.

The rift.

How did he get on the other side of the rift?! Just seconds ago he was in his bed, but now he suddenly was in space? Maybe not space. Maybe invisible space? There were no constellations! How could he tell?! Unless—

"Oh, my stars."

Alfred pulled his gaze from the rift to see a figure on the snowy horizon. He squinted and then paled upon realizing who it was.

"Alfred, it's been a long time."

Alfred's eyes slowly fell from the figure down to the valley between them. His slow breaths breezed through him, making him feel hollow as tears pricked his eyes. Below them, there were bodies. Countless bodies soaked in red. Alfred had seen many gory images in his life, but the one before him struck him to the core—not because there were so many dead…but because he remembered witnessing it all before.

Arthur tucked in the most modern, unconscious Alfred. Just as he finished covering up the nation, there was a knock at the door.

After opening the door, Amelia stepped inside and took in Alfred's state. "Arthur, what's going on?"

Arthur took a step away from the bed and spoke with a controlled tone—mostly to keep the others from hearing. "I don't know. I pulled him outside, and we were talking, but suddenly he doubled over. He talked about a migraine. I know he's been suffering from them for the past few days—"

"Is that normal in this world?" Amelia asked, pulling down the covers. "Does he get migraines really often?"

Arthur stepped back again to give Amelia room, and he shook his head. "No, it's not. I just know that it's been getting progressively worse."

"We're getting closer to the full moon," She mentioned ominously as she brushed Alfred's bangs aside and placed his glasses on the bedside table. "Do you think it has something to do with that?"

"No, it can't be. Magic from the full moon doesn't cause pain." Arthur paused, thinking more on it. "…It _shouldn't_ cause pain. Not to this scale."

Amelia sent him a mildly skeptical look. "Have you used the magic from the full moon very often? How many times do you pull a country's self from different time periods and place them all together in one room?"

"Ah… Well— No. And. Not often." He cleared his throat and walked over to the other side of the bed. "No, this is my first time using this spell, but this is only one type. The spell, that is. There are ways to call up different parts of a country from different time periods." At this point, he seemed to slow down in his explanation. "I could've plucked the parts from a history book, but then they would've been…" He tilted his head and tried to mime the words. "…They would not have been authentic. They would've only been Alfred's basic personality traits from that chapter in the history book."

"So you didn't use that version, because it wouldn't have given you _real_ Alfreds?" Amelia asked, starting to feel a little annoyed with Arthur. She turned on the bedside lamp before lifting Alfred's eyelids to check his pupils.

Arthur winced. "Ah, yes. That's right. You see, the act is unnatural to pull parts of one entity from different time periods and keep them all in one place, because it's a paradox. By using the new moon's brand of magic for my specific spell, I managed to…tear a hole…in space-time."

"Call me crazy, but I think that's a little hefty even for you." She answered, leaning back and sighing. "How do you tear a hole in space-time?"

At this point, Arthur was less than eager to share what exactly he did. "…I reached into the past…and pulled defining moments of Alfred's life from their home time. I didn't pull faulty copies from a history text. I actually brought the entire body from its time. They're real Alfreds. Each and every one." His talking started to speed up. "And I've found that I can't handle them all at once. All of them require my full attention all the time. I've just had to control them to make sure that this current Alfred here survives the next ninety-six hours."

Meanwhile in his head, Alfred was determined to get to the bottom of the situation. "What are you doing here?" He asked the figure across from him. "I thought I wouldn't have to see you again."

"You thought wrong." The figure answered. "You know, I was eying that crack up there, thinking that it'd be a nice place to live."

Alfred lifted his chin, attempting to show confidence. "Too bad. That's someplace you'll never go. Cut the crap. What're you doing wreaking havoc here?"

The figure paused, and it began to walk over to Alfred's hill, staying on a straight path between the grounds. Gravity could be bypassed within the mind. "I remember existence. I'd like it back." It looked up at the image in the sky. "You and I both know that this…_this_ could mean freedom for me. It's been there for…mm…ten days? I've seen the water sparkle ten times. Long times. But times."

Alfred stood strong. After all, _he _existed. This figure didn't. "Again, too bad. You're going to disappear, got it? I already got rid of you fair and square."

The figure stopped a few feet away from Alfred, tilting its head. "You know what a nation's personification is, right? A basic representation of how the people within your borders feel about things—you're shaped by wars, deals, and laws. Now…" It reached out a hand and rested it on Alfred's shoulder. "I may not be an entity anymore, but there are some people out there that still believe in me. I know that once I head out, I'll be able to tilt the majority in my favor, and you will hide in here like I had to. Be a good country and dissolve, yeah?"

"Bullshit." Alfred shoved against the figure. "You are insane if you think I'll roll over and let you be my land's representation."

The figure rested where it was in the transparent matter. (Annoyingly), it did not fall; it merely floated. "Well, I was close before, right? And— Listen, I get that your memory can sometimes get fuzzy, so here's a friendly reminder." A blunt, sword-like object extended from the figure's 'hand,' and with no warning, it swing clean through Alfred's chest.

Amelia's tone was on edge as she started to notice Alfred's face scrunch up in pain. "What kind of spell did you use? I get that it's super creepy and super dangerous."

Arthur spoke quickly, "It was a rip-off spell. You know when there's something you want to do with an electronic, but you don't know the real way how to do it, so you try a band aid solution since that's good enough, and it works?"

"This isn't the same thing as trying to watch Netflix on the TV!" She shouted. "We have to figure it out. He's hurting!"

The two heard a fast thumping come up the stairs and down the hall. The soldier stood in the doorway out of breath with worry all over his face. "Arthur, something's wrong with rancher. He's gasping and— He's in pain! We— We need you downstairs, okay? Come on!" With that, the soldier ran back downstairs.

Arthur's eyes widened, and he looked to Amelia. "… They're suffering in order from the oldest to the youngest."

Amelia's gaze locked onto his, and she worked to keep herself in control of the current situation. "M'kay. Don't tell 'em that. Get your ass downstairs. Go on." There was less bite in her words; the priority was trying to figure out why this version of Alfred was suffering.

Without another pause, Arthur rushed downstairs in time to see the rancher stretched out on the couch, clutching his chest. His face was pink, and he struggled to keep from screaming. The children were rightly frightened, and the eldest colony was trying to urge their attention elsewhere. The soldier, on the other hand, was at the rancher's side, assuring him that he had brought help.

Arthur hurried over to the rancher's side. "What hurts? What kind of hurt is it?" His heart stung when he saw the rancher's tears.

"Chest—! It—" He panted, nearly hyperventilating, "It feels fresh!"

Confusion engulfed Arthur before he pulled the rancher's hand from his chest. Arthur gasped, unable to keep back his surprise. A thin line of red cut diagonally across the rancher's heart. Arthur yanked up the rancher's shirt to see the stain's proof. Immediately, Arthur looked to the soldier. "Go tell Amelia to check the chest. Now."

In the current Alfred's mind, his hand pressed against his chest as he let out a yell. Alfred pulled back his hand to see blood decorating it. He panted, glaring at the figure.

"Remember when you got that?" The figure seemed pleased. "Don't tell me it was nearly healed." It paused and waved its other hand passively. "Ah, either way, you're reminded. …Hey, look here." The figure pointed to its form.

Alfred looked to see the figure slowly forming its clothes and skin. "Heh," It was a pained, terrified chuckle of sorts. "What do you know? Never thought I'd have to see that gross thing outside a museum again."

After the soldier had darted upstairs, Arthur guided the rancher from the couch to a second floor bedroom. Just after the halfway point, the rancher's pained whines died down, and he settled for labored breaths. It seemed that the pain was subsiding.

"How are you feeling?" Arthur asked while leading the rancher to his bed and lying him down.

Alfred the rancher looked up at Arthur with pain written on his features. "It just flared up again." He struggled through his words as he motioned towards his chest.

Arthur took in the sight of the stained shirt before pushing it up to Alfred's chin. "… Wasn't this the same mark I saw on you just the other day? How did you get it?" He absolutely doubted that the mark was a result of rough play.

Alfred took in a shaky breath, and he stared up at the ceiling, squeezing his eyes closed. He gasped, "I don't know what's happening!"

Arthur sat on the bed beside Alfred and rested a hand against Alfred's cheek. He worked to speak in a calm tone if only to take Alfred's fear down a few notches. "Alfred, right now your more modern form is passed out and in pain upstairs. If this mark ties you two together, then I need to know everything about it."

"It was normal until we were together!" Alfred shouted in response. He viewed Arthur with tears in his eyes. "You pulled us all together! That was you!"

Arthur nodded grimly. He had heard it a great deal, but unlike hearing it from Amelia or the most modern version of Alfred, _this_ shout was more desperate than accusatory.

Alfred's breath wavered in and out. "All together. Except Amelia. Why didn't Amelia show up?! At the beginning, why didn't she show up?!"

"She's— She's from a different universe, Alfred. An alternate universe." Arthur answered, trying his best to (unsuccessfully) calm the rancher. "You need to rest now, okay? You _have_ to calm down. We'll talk about this when you're not hurting anymore."

Alfred chose not to speak in response. He closed his eyes and allowed his head to fall to the side as he bore with the stinging pain. Quickly, Arthur cleaned up the cut before joining Amelia upstairs in the master bedroom.

"There's a huge mark across his chest." Amelia said out loud, making the finishing touches on the most modern Alfred's bandages.

"Wait," Arthur stepped over to Amelia's side, "could you remove those? This one seems bigger than the cowboy's." As Amelia removed the bandages, Arthur looked to the soldier across the room. "Are you developing a cut on your chest?"

The soldier woke up from his thoughts when Arthur addressed him. He placed a hand against his chest and shook his head. "No, there's no pain or anything."

"Tell us if the cut starts to form." Arthur ordered, and the soldier nodded in agreement.

Amelia finished removing the bandages. "It's about a foot in length. Maybe an inch or so deep." She pondered, trying to figure out how the mark appeared in the first place. "I must've missed something. Did he have a run in with a saw mill recently?"

"No…," Arthur stared at the most modern Alfred, seriously contemplating on what could be happening. After a pause, his eyes widened in realization. "Amelia. The rancher said, 'it flared up again.' _Again_. So if you," He pointed towards the soldier, "don't have it, then you receive it between your time and the rancher's time. He was also scared. He was…very frightened. What happened between 1777 and the…1880's?"

Amelia gave Arthur a tired look. "French Revolution, the Louisiana Purchase, a big outbreak of gangrene—" She watched him for a moment, "… Wait, Arthur, you don't think… Something from that time period is going to fall through the rift like _I_ did, do you?"

"I think that's why he's so afraid." Arthur stated, biting his bottom lip with worry.

The soldier leaned on the bed, staring down the two nations across from him. "What are you two talking about?" He tried his hardest to remain firm with the situation at hand. "I'm going up against you in my time period, and _I'm_ not terrified." It was the truth. Going head to head with Arthur was nerve-wracking, and Alfred dreaded it, but it was necessary in his eyes. He did not remember bold faced fear.

Amelia gave the soldier a sympathetic look. "Hon, your fight with Arthur is new, and there will be hardships you will face, but your next opponent—that is to say, the one that we're specifically talking about—…knows you a little better than Arthur does." Amelia looked between Arthur and the soldier before deciding to take the next action. She spoke to the soldier, "Why don't you go downstairs and assure all the little ones? We'll be down to make dinner in a few."

After a pause, the soldier headed downstairs without a word.

"Amelia, if that personification wants to appear here, then why isn't he here? How can he be doing this to both of these Alfreds?" Arthur began to rewrap the most modern Alfred's wound.

Amelia shook her head and shrugged. "I didn't voluntarily jump in. I just happened along the rift, and I fell. I was in my Colorado, too." She gasped, "Do you think he's not here, because he dissolved just over a decade before Colorado was a state?"

"The rift would still exist." Arthur paused in his wrapping to focus on the puzzle. "If Colorado had to be a state in order to let Americas be pulled through it, then how can anyone before the rancher be pulled through?"

"That's not what I was saying." Amelia stated, starting to get annoyed. "Everyone else got here because you hand chose them, right?"

"Right."

"Right. So. You hand-picked the toddler, the child, the oldest colony, the soldier, the rancher, and that little, white, blob thing. This Alfred just happened to be here in his time period when you chose to cast the spell. I fell through, because there was a big rift in time-space." Amelia paused to take in a breath, and she looked over Alfred. "… Problem is…how can _he_ make their chests bleed when he's not even here? Last I checked, personifications can't make other personifications bleed by wishing it."

The two stared at the unconscious Alfred, thinking it over.

After about a minute of thought, Arthur spoke. "We can't figure it out any faster by watching Alfred. Let's go get dinner on the table, and then we can think about it some more."


	9. Enter the Nightmare

**Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia.**

* * *

><p>American Copies<p>

Chapter 9 – Enter the Nightmare

Day ten ended with Arthur and Amelia bouncing ideas off of each other late into the night. The sun rose to reveal the beginnings of the eleventh day. They only had four days left to determine exactly how the scars existed, how to send everyone back home, how to fix the rift, and why a ghost of the past was haunting two versions of America. For the better part of the day, both suffering versions rested while Arthur and Amelia pulled out a poster board they had found.

Amelia spread the white board across the wood floor in the second floor entertainment room. She pulled out a Sharpie and uncapped it with the intention of marking up the white space. "Alright." She leaned over and began to draw out a diagram. "Here are all the Americas…" She drew a circle with a question mark in it. "And this is the one that's buggin' us. We've got four days to make sure he doesn't come through the rift."

"In that time, I need to watch the ingredients and figure out a way to give the rift a form of paradox byproduct that'll settle it, so it'll sew itself shut." Arthur thought aloud while pacing.

"Good luck with that, buddy." Amelia murmured while sketching out the moon cycle. She sighed, sitting back on her heels. "His ability gets stronger as we get closer to the new moon. Is that because the new moon has more power than the waxing gibbous? Less dark magic to screw with the light magic?"

Arthur allowed his head to briefly bounce from side to side, thinking over what Amelia said. "It could be…that it's because the rift has been open for so long; it's gotten weaker. Besides, hurting other people isn't a pure action or intention, so by extension, he needs to get through the rift before the full moon rises."

"Okay, how can the rules of magic determine whether or not something's 'good' or whatever?" Amelia asked, sending a look at Arthur. "All the magic knows is that something is going through the rift—"

"_Into_ the wrong time." Arthur interrupted. "That's _wrong_ in the sense of universal laws. The new moon is for screwing with the universe. The full moon is for fixing it."

Amelia sat down on the floor and looked to Arthur, lifting an eyebrow.

Arthur paused in his pacing. "…Loosely speaking. Look, as soon as I'm able to close the rift, after I send all the Americas back home to their rightful time, then everything should be fine. He needs a rift to cause trouble, and since there won't be a rift for him to saunter through, he can't come here." There was a brief silence, and Arthur began his pacing again, letting out a frustrated huff. "What are we missing? Why isn't he here, yet? Why can he fuck with Alfreds' chests?"

"Look at the board, Arthur."

Arthur lifted his head upon hearing his name being called. "Hold on, Amelia. I think I hear Alfred."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "_Yeah_, he's right here in a different looking body; you need to look at the poster!"

Arthur shook his head and hurried out of the room. "I'm needed. Keep working on connecting those dots." He heard Amelia yell after him as he rushed to the rancher's room. "What's wrong, Alfred?" Arthur stepped into the room, and stood at the rancher's bedside.

The cowboy looked up at Arthur with worry deep in his blue eyes. His breathing was shallow, and he gulped. "Arthur, everything's fine, right?" He tightly gripped onto Arthur's shirt. "He's not coming, right? He can't come. He's _dead_."

Arthur watched the terror flicker in Alfred's eyes before sitting down beside him. "He's not coming here, Alfred."

"How do you know?" He whined.

"Everything's okay," Arthur tried again. He paused before shifting and brushing Alfred's bangs to the side. "I promise that everything is going to be just fine." He really was sure that things would be okay considering the fact that it was a race, and he intended to win.

"Arthur!" Amelia called from the entertainment room. There were sounds of paper tearing.

Arthur gave Alfred a reassuring nod and whispered a last, "I promise," before hurrying back to Amelia. "What is it, Amelia? What's wrong?"

"Look at the damn poster board." Amelia held one half of it in one hand and left the other half on the floor.

Arthur slid down to the floor and picked up the discarded half. He held it up to Amelia's half and watched as the intricate, circular marks began to thread the poster together again. Quickly, he pulled back his half and held it away from Amelia's half. "… Alright. Um. Amelia." Arthur stood, tearing his half of poster into fourths and setting them down in different places of the room. "The, uh… I assume the universe is trying to fix itself. The rift is leaking some proper magic. It's like… Like a wound. This…weirdness is the proof that the tear is infected. How did the circular writing get on the poster? I didn't know you knew it."

Amelia shook her head. "If you looked at it when I told you to, then you would've seen the sharpie write it itself. Geez. So we need to throw these out into different trash cans? To keep them from fusing again?"

"Yeah." Arthur watched the four bits of poster he set up across the room. "They should stay apart until I've sent everyone back to where they belong and fixed the rift. Once the universe is fixed back to the way it was, then it'll stop trying to fix itself."

"Okay, what's stopping us from letting the universe fix itself? Seems like a win-win situation." Amelia stood and tore her part of the poster in half. "One, all of the Americas are sent back to where they're supposed to be; two, we could do it right now, so that guy can't come here. Three, the rift sews itself up. I mean what could be bad about all that?"

Arthur winced a bit, not really wanting to remind Amelia of his process. "Remember when I told you about how sometimes you can't figure out the exact right way to do something, so you use a band aid solution?"

Amelia closed her eyes and sighed. After a moment, she let her gaze rest on Arthur. "Right. So what? The universe'll fix it, right?"

"No," Arthur shook his head, a little annoyed. "Since I used a knock-off process, it needs to be reversed. The universe will fix it the right way as if I had done it correctly in the first place. That's far too risky, because the universe may leave something unturned or rushed. No, this fix is up to us."

"Arthur, you're making it really hard to not be pissed." She frowned. "Okay. Either we wait too long for the full moon, and he pops out of the rift, _or_; we let the universe clean everything up all spic and span with the _chance_—I heard you say 'may'—_chance_ that it'll leave something out. What happens if the guy shows up and manages to gut one of the Americas, huh? History would be _fucked_. Or at least our history would." She paused. "I mean— Not my history, because I'm from an alternative universe, but _his_ history. Are you sure you want that?"

"Bite your tongue. I—" Arthur looked away, huffing lightly. "… I didn't mean to ruin his history or pull you from your happy life. I've been trying to keep things as painless as possible."

"Ace job, Champ."

"Ha, ha. That was. That was very tasteful." Arthur rubbed his eyes, frustration welling within him. He let out a sigh. "It could be loads worse. I promise you. Now. I've been trying to keep the other Americas very close to their original thought process and how they perceive me. It's been difficult." He glanced around the room and murmured. "Especially when the eldest colony yelled at me. That was certainly…deserved." Arthur fell back on the huge couch, staring up at the ceiling. "You have _no_ idea how much I wanted to calm him and tell him he was right, and that I'm sorry."

Amelia watched him for a moment before tossing her two poster halves on opposite sides of the room. "That sucks. Do we have time to play Freud?"

Arthur stretched his neck to look out the window. "Mm. Perhaps not. Thank you, though. This is…day eleven. We've got," He checked his watch, "God. Twelve hours until the twelfth day. Why did we sleep in?"

"We? Pretty sure you were the one to take extra time in the bedroom." Amelia crossed her arms and stepped over to the couch to talk to Arthur face to face.

"Fine. My fault."

"Do you guys need help?" Amelia and Arthur both looked to see the revolutionary soldier standing at the foot of the couch. "It kind of sounds like you've got your work cut out for you, and this all sounds like a really big deal. I mean— I understand that it's big. It just sounds more…panicked than you guys let the rest of us know."

Amelia viewed the soldier. It was weird to see him readily helpful, but she supposed he might have considered his priorities. "Actually, Alfred, can you watch the kids? We're just trying to wrap our minds around this big thing, and it'd be easier knowing that the other Alfreds are in good hands."

"Yeah, sure." The soldier crossed his arms. "So. I'm not allowed to hear about what's going on?"

Arthur sat up fully, rattling off an answer, "That's right. Go downstairs and watch everyone. If they want to go play in the lake, you have to stay in the shallow water."

The soldier seemed a bit disgruntled. Evidently, he was sometimes averse to following orders.

Amelia spoke up. "It'd be a huge help. We need you guys to be able to go back to your time unchanged." Wordlessly, the soldier walked out of the room and down the stairs. Once he was gone, Amelia gave Arthur's arm a light smack. "Why're you purposefully getting him on edge?"

"He needs to dislike me to keep up his drive. Don't you remember _your_ revolution?" Arthur stood, looking Amelia over.

She lifted her chin before glancing away. "Yeah. I get that."

The two existed in silence for a short time. The clouded sun hung in the sky, signifying the afternoon passing—slipping through their fingers. The room gradually passed between cloudy dark and unhindered light.

Finally, Amelia spoke, "How's that spell progress coming? This is a race, right? Against him and against the universe?"

Arthur nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, it is. I need some of America's DNA. Hair or something of the like. Preferably hair. Easier to keep up with than saliva. After getting that, it's finished. The spell's complete." He stepped around Amelia to stand in the center of the room, favoring it over standing between Amelia and the sofa. "But I cannot add the last ingredient until the full moon shows its face, otherwise it won't work. I can't have the sun in the visual vicinity either so we need to wait for nightfall. It'll be difficult to wait, but we need to."

"Then all we can do is wait for the fourteenth night." Amelia fell down against the sofa and leaned back, eyeing Arthur. "I get that we have to wait for the full moon, and that'll be the fourteenth day, but tell me why moonrise isn't good enough. Tell me why it has to be moonrise _and_ past sunset."

"Well—" Arthur paused, looking around for a suitable thing to draw on. The poster board was out of the question. He sighed and decided to mime his words. "Alright, so the full moon reflects the Sun's light, making it look like it's luminescent—_meaning _that it can't possibly—"

"I know that the moon doesn't make its own light, Arthur." Amelia crossed her legs and leaned forward to rest her arms in her lap. "Tell me why the Sun and full moon can't be in the sky at the same time for the spell to work."

Arthur held a hand up to Amelia. "I'll tell you. Give me a moment. I like to run through the thought process, because if I explain it fully, then somehow an answer will fall out. Somewhere." He lifted an eyebrow, daring Amelia to talk further. In response, Amelia shrugged, waiting for Arthur to speak. "Alright. The moon reflects the sun's light. A sidereal month takes just over twenty-seven days. The time that passes between the new moon and the full moon is just under fourteen days. The moon's full revolution around the Earth symbolizes the circle of life with its birth, its peak, and its death—or rebirth; whatever you prefer to think is fine. It's all symbolism in magic anyway. With the birth, the moon is dark. It's the new moon. With the use of a lunar system based magic, you use the lack of light with the new moon to cause disruption in the universe. With the same Lunar System Base, you use the matured reflection of the full moon to put everything back as it was. You must retrace your steps _exactly_." Arthur took a brief break. "Are you following?" Amelia nodded, partially enjoying the refresher course. Arthur proceeded to pace as he continued to explain. "Okay. Retracing steps exactly. A Lunar Based System requires a fluidity that is dependent on things being _just so_. We cannot have the sun in the sky at the time I cast _the spell that is based on the Lunar Base System of Magic_, because the Sun would disrupt and mistranslate the spell, forcing strings of _Solar Based Magic _into the spell. This fucks with my exact retracing. I couldn't tell you what casting Solar Based Magic when Lunar Based Magic needs to be cast does exactly, but there is no way that I will risk Alfred's life over a minor technicality. I'm taking no chances."

After she figured Arthur was finished with his explanation, Amelia nodded. "Alright, then, Art. Looks like we're locking up all the writing utensils and waiting for sundown on the fourteenth day." She looked past Arthur to see the rancher standing with a bedsheet draped over his shoulders. "Hey," she spoke, "how're you feeling?"

Arthur turned to view the younger Alfred. "Is your mark bothering you? What are you doing out of bed?"

Alfred the cowboy shook his head lightly. "It's kinda dull right now. I wanted to stand up and walk around some. Maybe help out a little. With figuring things out."

"That's not necessary. You can go back to bed now, Alfred. Amelia and I have this." Arthur bent down to pick up one of the poster remnants, but Alfred reached out and gripped Arthur's shirt with his incredible strength. Arthur looked up to see fear very evident in Alfred's eyes. "Alfred—?"

"Please," He let out a shaky breath, "please, I need to know what's going on. I can't lie in bed, knowing he might come. You gotta tell me the truth. Even if it's bad."

Amelia patted the sofa seat beside her. "Come sit here, Alfred. We'll tell you all you need. You're close to twenty-first century Alfred, so I don't think there's much risk in telling you what's up."

After a brief pause, Alfred released his hold on Arthur's shirt and hurried over to Amelia, sitting down beside her. "Will he show up?"

Arthur opened his mouth to argue. Amelia, intent on telling Alfred the truth more than intent on comforting him, interrupted Arthur. "There's a chance he might. But we're all here together. You're not going at it alone. Don't think for one second it's going to be like last time, because it won't be. You'll be able to rely on all of us. Okay?"

Alfred watched Amelia. After a moment, he nodded. "Yeah," he responded with a soft voice. "Thanks." He pulled his gaze from Amelia to land on Arthur. "I want to know what's going on. I heard something about sundown and writing utensils."

Arthur was a little annoyed that he would have to repeat himself, but if it was for Alfred, he could do it. "I used Lunar Based Magic to cast the spell to pull you all together. I need to cast another Lunar Based Magic spell to put all of you back the way I found you all. The Sun and full moon will probably be in the sky at the same time, so we need to wait until the Sun is completely down for me to cast the spell. We can't have Lunar Based Magic and Solar Based Magic mixing. Everything needs to be put back just as I found it." He sighed, shifting his posture and crossing his arms. "The universe is trying to repair itself, and we can't let that happen, because using Lunar Based Magic is a forced timeline manipulator whereas the universe will misunderstand and treat it as if it happened naturally. It will leave things out and force things. The result would be disastrous. So we need to stop all writing utensils from writing a circular looking language all over—which is why we need to lock up all the writing utensils."

Alfred nodded, understanding. "Okay. And what about the magic spell? How're the ingredients?"

"It's all fine. I just need to add some of your DNA to the mix, but I need to wait for that, because when I put your DNA into the mixture, the spell will activate. It won't work if the Sun is in our views." Arthur mimed what he was talking about, finding it easier to portray his point. "Then we'd be done for. It would be like…" He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on the gaming system. "Oh! It would be like beating an entire game with level one armor, your level one sword, and your level one shield. With no magic or shortcuts."

"I, um. I don't know what that means. I think that means very hard…?" Alfred winced a bit, trying to comprehend the MMORPG game references.

Amelia thought on the comparison before gasping. "It'd be like fighting _him_ again single-handedly. You'd be up against a newly added boss, the universe fixing itself faster, _and_ you'd have to wait _twenty-seven_ days for the moon to make a full revolution. We're not taking any chances."

"Oh, so… Okay." He pulled his legs up to his chest and looked between Amelia and Arthur. Concern filled him about the upcoming days, but it was briefly replaced with curiosity. "Do you know when he might come?"

Amelia paused, biting her bottom lip. "Well… The thing is… He should've been here already. We don't know why he's not here. Maybe he's having a hard time finding the rift."

"We just don't know. Amelia is a natural occurrence. She fell through the rift, and that lasted probably about a few seconds. It doesn't make sense that it would take him _days_ to get here." Arthur ruffled his hair. He was clearly annoyed. "He's a version of America that existed. He logically should have fallen through if he was going to fall through. He should not have been able to make the marks on your and the most modern America's chest worse. It doesn't make sense."

The young child version of America ran up the stairs, excited. "Arthur! Arthur, look at the sky! The sky feels purple today!" He jumped onto the other length of sofa and kneeled on it, looking out the window. "There's a big cut in the sky."

At that, Arthur's eyes widened, and he hurried over to the child, looking out the window. The rift was indeed tearing itself wider and becoming visible. Lightning shot through the rift and charged the lake below it. It was terrifying and…slow—very slow.

It continued to be slow and foreboding. No figure came through. Nothing but the lightning—and that was only about once every other hour. Amelia was on calming duty and Arthur was on medical duty. Arthur watched over America the rancher and the twenty-first century America—who quite frequently seemed to be in pain while unconscious. The eleventh night passed without an unwanted visit from another America.

It was in the early morning hours that a powerful jolt of lightning hit the lake, sending a deafening rumble throughout the cabin. It woke everyone—save for the most modern America—just in time to deliver another round of resounding thunder—the cabin's inhabitants felt it reverberate throughout their bodies.

Instantaneously, Arthur was out of bed and down the stairs. He did not bother with shoes as he ran out of the cabin and leaned over the veranda's railing. His eyes widened when he saw the lake water bubble. The wind whipped Arthur's sandy hair about his head. He kicked the door closed behind him before sprinting down to the beach. Managing to catch himself before he touched the water, Arthur squinted, gazing out at the landscape. There was a third powerful, lightning strike, followed by more earsplitting thunder.

Once nature finished its show, the rift remained torn open. It looked weary, aching, and it was a mess of misused, time matter. What drew Arthur's attention from the diseased rift was the figure in the water that was slowly stepping closer and closer towards the shore. Oh, he certainly looked the part for a ghost; the dead uniform ensured that. Arthur's breath caught in his throat at the sight.

It was him.

The Confederate States of America.


	10. The Goodbye Moment

**Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia.**

* * *

><p>American Copies<p>

Chapter 10 – The Goodbye Moment

It was him. He was walking closer. That dreaded, gray uniform clung to the figure, but upon further examination he looked different from the cowboy. That was a given; he was an embodiment of a set of specific ideals America had—and tragically still had in the present. Arthur righted his posture and squinted at the figure that loomed closer. When he realized the full difference, his eyes widened, and he took a step back.

He did not have the physical similarities of the America from 1860. He had the physical similarities of the America from 2011. He had the glasses, the more muscle mass, the taller height— He was the twenty-first century America in a Confederate Army uniform.

"Is that Arthur Kirkland I see?" He called out. There was an undertone of thrill and excitement in his tone. "My, it's been _years_ since I've seen _you_." His voice had a southern twang to it which matched the nightmarish ensemble.

Arthur took another few steps back and answered in a firm voice, "The Confederate States of America."

"The Confederate States of America is so _long_." He threw his head back in mock exaggeration before sending Arthur a smile. "Alfred'll do just fine."

Arthur stepped back again, noting that the Confederacy was nearly out of the water—just a few feet away. "The name 'Alfred' doesn't suit you in my eyes."

"Hunh, good thing I don't care." Alfred the Confederate strolled onto the beach. He paused beside Arthur. "You know you raised me. Y'see, the way it happened was…there was a split. We used to be in the same body—I and he, _but_ there was a little issue... I got paranoid, and he got rid of me. Ruthless guy. But yeah before I seceded, there was only one representation for America—the one you raised." He reached out a hand and brushed his fingers against Arthur's cheek. "Remember?"

Arthur immediately smacked away Alfred's arm and sent him a glare. "You're a racist tangent that was born in 1860, and you were killed by the Union."

Alfred watched Arthur with a thoughtful gaze, and a corner of his lips tucked itself back, expressing slight frustration. He sighed. "Arthur, c'mon, you're smarter than this. You _know_ I'm not from 1800s. Well— My uniform is. I was dissolved in it, but you can't deny that I'm just a bit taller than I was way back then."

There was a pause from both parties.

"Want to know why?" Alfred asked, lifting an eyebrow. Arthur showed no indication of questioning him further. Quickly, Alfred's hand shot out and gripped Arthur's shirt—much to Arthur's surprise. Alfred yanked him close. "It's because I was never truly dead. Just dissolved. I have existed in America's head for 146 years."

Arthur clutched onto the Confederacy's arm. Unlike Amelia, the specter was not yanked from an alternative universe. This America was not pulled from 1860, but he was a version of America. The only true answer was that the Confederacy was an underlying persona that owned the back of America's mind—Arthur could think of a few of his own, but never had they come out to— Arthur's eyes widened. "…You're a result. You're what Alfred would be…if the Confederate States of America had won the American Civil War."

"Yup. He and I are alternative results of one, deciding event. _I_ am hypothetical." He tilted his head as if to exhibit some form of pride.

Arthur yanked back, though he was unsuccessful in freeing himself. "Then why are you able to touch me? How can your clothes be wet from the water? How can you be standing here if you don't exist?"

"I _do_ exist, Arthur."

"Then you're not hypothetical."

Alfred huffed and rolled his eyes. Same Arthur. Always so technical. "Okay, okay. I'm not the true representation of America right now. He is. But I'm planning on changing that by becoming the dominant personality. Shouldn't be too hard. There's numerous people that live within my borders I can represent, and with me as the representation, then that personality will take over the majori—"

At that moment, the Confederacy found the landscape abruptly shift. Arthur had kicked the backs of his knees, he reasoned. In accordance with the attack, Alfred retaliated, dragging Arthur down with him. The yanking, the flipping, and the pinning lasted all of a few seconds, and once again Arthur and Alfred were glowering at each other.

"Don't like hearing me talk, Hon?" Alfred asked, willing a smirk on his face.

"It's nothing personal, Alfred, it's just that stupidity offends me. I hate seeing it in large droves." Upon seeing the drawn back fist, Arthur turned his head to the side and simultaneously squeezed his eyes closed.

But the hit never came.

Arthur peaked through a squinted gaze. He was surprised to see the Confederate States of America staring up at the veranda where… Arthur looked as well to see a line of American copies standing side by side.

"So those visions from that hole were true… You pulled past versions of me and brought them here." Alfred looked down at Arthur. "You've got a weird way of showing affection. On that note, I don't have time to sit around and fight." Alfred stood up and brushed himself off before heading towards the veranda stairs.

Arthur jumped up and ran after him, calling out, "Don't hurt them!"

Alfred glanced back at Arthur, giving him a look of absolute disbelief. "They're _my_ past. _Why_ would I want to destroy my own past? That's stupid. God, Arthur. You're great sometimes, but that was a pretty stereotypical assumption."

"You're right. I should just stop assuming that you'll kill people, because you clearly are only out to preserve lives," Arthur growled, staying hot on the Confederacy's heels.

"Yeah, speaking of that," Alfred glanced around the bottom floor of the house, "where's that version of me that actually looks like me? From this time period. Scratch the uniform."

Arthur crossed his arms, intending to stand between the Confederacy and the rest of his Alfreds for quite some time. "Out. What do you need to know that for?"

"Well— I'm going to kill him, of course." The Confederacy answered easily. He continued on talking as he poked his head through the different doorways. "Take my place in this world. Take over it. Whatever works best for me. But you and I are going to have to put my past back where it came from, okay? I'm not too into the idea of falling apart at the seams, because a past self of mine got a splinter from twenty-first century wood."

Arthur glared after the Confederacy as he searched the bottom floor. "Alfred," He addressed the eldest colony, "take the children upstairs to the master bedroom so they'll be out of the way, okay? It's just after eight; we're awake for the day. Make sure _everyone_ stays awake. I don't want to be up with the kids into the morning's early hours."

The eldest colony looked between Arthur's firm gaze and the Confederacy who was still searching. Hesitantly, he nodded, and he picked up the toddler. He took the child's hand and scaled the staircase with his heart pounding in his ears.

Arthur wanted him to wake his most modern self. He grasped that. Everyone meant _everyone_. Maybe Arthur thought his most modern self could help and fight against the other version of himself. The eldest colony focused on climbing the second staircase. It seemed that his hearing had heightened to listen for the water drenched stranger, but no sound of hurried steps came. Once he arrived at the door to the master bedroom, he opened it and pulled the child inside. Alfred closed the door behind them and set the toddler down. Immediately, he hurried over to the bed, staring down at his future self with worry.

"Okay, Guys." Alfred looked to the child and toddler. "We're going to wake him up. Arthur says everyone has to be awake. So. We're gonna do that. We don't have much time." The eldest colony gave his most modern self a light push and then a shove.

The child, deciding that just pushing was not good enough, pulled the toddler onto the bed and climbed over to his oldest self. He leaned down and called into the twenty-first century America's ear. "HEY! Wake up, Alfred! We need you! Arthur needs you! There's a scary guy here, and you need to _wake up!"_

The toddler settled for climbing onto the most modern America's chest and pounding on it.

Instantaneously, the Confederacy winced and covered his ears, looking to Arthur, and the other version of himself that stood by him. He seemed young…perhaps from around the 1700s, and the woman at Arthur's other side did look similar to him. Oh— The alternate universe version. The rift was badly damaged, of course there was a universe in which he was— Wait, wait. Arthur had said his other half was not home (of course he did not believe that for a second). Where was it that Arthur sent the kids to?

Briefly, the Confederacy's vision blacked out. He caught himself staring at the ground with wide eyes. That was close. He almost surrendered consciousness to his other half. That would have definitely thrown a wrench into his plans. He viewed the stairs. Arthur had sent his past selves to the master bedroom.

When the Confederacy seemed to make the connection, Arthur spoke quickly, "Amelia, Alfred, to the second floor." Though both were hesitant, they hurried up the stairs. Arthur stood at the base, staring the Confederate Alfred down.

Alfred chuckled lowly as he took a step towards Arthur. "I think we just did this. You ended up on the ground, remember? _You_ have gotten weaker since we last encountered each other. So if I could take you on during my revolution and during the War of 1812, then what makes you think that you can take me now?"

Arthur spread his legs to the length of his shoulders to create a solid stance. He had no intention of letting this Alfred pass him.

Alfred paused and his amused smile fell. "Y'know, I couldn't really take that punch before. Contrary to popular belief, I don't want to hurt you. So why don't you stand aside so I can get by without beating you up?" He took a few steps forward, keeping a distance of a few feet between them. When Arthur did not move, Alfred sighed. "I know you don't want to hurt me either, okay? So if I go in to attack, you're going to end up under me again just like before."

"Interesting theory. Let's test it." Arthur lifted his chin, suggesting that Alfred come forth.

Alfred huffed before rushing forward, reaching out for Arthur's shoulder as he had done similarly before. Instantly, Arthur fell to his left and thrusted his heel into Alfred's torso. He heard a sudden grunt, and when he returned to his initial position, he saw Alfred lying on the floor, clutching his stomach.

"Mm. Proven false."

Alfred gasped, staring up at the ceiling as he gripped his stomach. "What the _fuck_ was that?!" He coughed. "What the ever loving fuck was that, Arthur?! You couldn't push me away before, so _where the hell_ did that come from?"

Arthur looked down at his legs, bouncing lightly once or twice. He kept a stoic expression. "I've got good leg strength. I just wasn't in an optimal position before to _shatter your thick skull_."

Alfred winced, hearing more of his younger selves scream for his other half to wake. "Agh—" He laughed briefly and was very annoyed by the outcome. "Shit." His vision went dark. "Looks like I'll see you when the other gets tired." With that, the Confederacy went silent, and his eyes closed. His breathing slowed to soft intakes and quiet exhales.

Arthur allowed his stance to slacken, and then he heard a flurry of stomping from upstairs. He looked to the top of the stairs to see _his_ young adult Alfred come into view.

"Are you okay?!" Alfred rushed downstairs, nearly falling as he went. He skipped the last few steps and landed in front of Arthur. Quickly, he gathered Arthur into a hug and spoke, "They told me the Confederate States are here. Did he fuck with you?"

Momentarily, Arthur allowed himself to enjoy the hug and Alfred's worry. It was such a comfort to feel it again. He moved his head to the side so he'd be able to speak out rather than speak into Alfred's chest. "I'm fine, Alfred. He's there on the ground."

Alfred looked to see a carbon copy of himself in a wet, Confederate Army uniform lying on the floor dead asleep. "Holy shit." He released his hold on Arthur and stepped over to his look-alike, squatting down to examine him. "Did you knock him out?"

"No." Arthur crossed his arms and glanced at the top of the staircase to see the other Americas crowding it. "No, I just kicked him." His eyes widened slightly and briefly in realization. "He said… 'I'll see you when the other one gets tired.' Alfred, I'm sure that means only one of you can be conscious at the same time, because you two are two, interchangeable results of a deciding event." He gave the Confederacy's boot a small kick. "I needed you awake, because—" Arthur lowered his voice, "because he said he wanted to kill you."

"Yeah, he wants to be the only rep." Alfred stood up and glanced around the room. "But we can't have that. I got hints of his thoughts, by the way—while I was out. Our minds are connected, pretty much, so. Any planning's going to have to be…not told to me. M'kay?"

Arthur accepted the situation, despite not liking it. "… Yeah. Yeah, got it. You're going to have to stay awake, though, until the full moon. We can't have him waking up again. Today is the twelfth day, so you need to stay awake for roughly…sixty hours. Can you do it?"

Alfred nodded easily, much to Arthur's surprise. "Yeah, sure. We're nations, right? We can handle some sleep loss. After all humans can go like ten days without sleep. I just need to survive two and a half. No big deal. I have coffee, video games, cable, Netflix, a twenty-four hour McDonald's down the street a ways— I'll be fine."

"Mm. Even though we don't need things as urgently as humans do, it's important to maintain a healthy lifestyle." Arthur moved to squat beside the Confederacy, and he began to remove the old clothing. "Anyone who's tired can go back to bed," He called upstairs before adding a last comment to himself. "I, however, have laundry to do."

"You're gonna wash that racist uniform?" Alfred asked skeptically.

Arthur shrugged. "How else are we going to tell you two apart? Save for the fact that he's got more of an American southern accent on him." He heard the sounds of individuals walking back to their respective bedrooms as he undressed the Confederacy. "Besides, we can't let this lake water and sand stay on this wood floor."

"Arthur." There was a pause filled with nothing but Arthur's fabric shuffling. Alfred pulled the wet clothes from Arthur. "Hey," His tone was softer than it had been previously, "flooring can be fixed. I'll just toss this crap uniform into the lake, and we can always write 'CSA' on him with a sharpie. …_Or_. You can still do tattoo art, right?"

At that, Arthur let out a hesitant laugh. "It's been a time. Besides. It's ultimately a nonissue since you'll stay awake for the sixty hours."

Alfred dropped the clothing on the Confederacy's face and scooted closer to the Confederacy's body. "Yo, Art." He leaned forward, leaving a foot of space between his face and Arthur's. "I don't think I ever heard why you were hoping I'd break free from your eighteenth century ass."

Arthur's green eyes flickered, taking in Alfred's genuinely friendly, facial features. "…Well." He faltered, gripping anything close to him for stability and confidence. "I… I don't want you to change. This you." He looked Alfred up and down. "I. Despite what I sometimes say, I don't want you to change. That loud howling out the window you did a few days ago was just— It was so _you._ I wouldn't want you to…do anything else but be yourself." Silence hung in the air before Arthur interrupted it in an attempt to inject more detail into his words. "A—and. If you never broke free from the British Empire's control, then I couldn't ensure that you'd turn out the same."

After a few moments of no response, Alfred's stare made Arthur nervous—but it was not exactly unwelcome. He found his body moving closer ever so slightly…

…that is, before he heard someone giggle from the stairs.

Arthur pulled back, falling against the couch and sending a look at whoever was on the staircase. Aha. It was the child. "Alfred, what do you think you're doing intruding on private conversation?"

The child was grinning brightly as he gripped the banister. "You guys aren't fighting anymore."

The most modern version of Alfred and Arthur locked gazes before Arthur quickly stood and walked over to the staircase. "Alfred, would you dry out those clothes, fold them, and put them with the other clothes from their original time periods? We need everyone dressed in their original clothing when we send them back. I'll put this one to bed."

"But you said that we'd be awake now!" The child argued. "I wanna stay up with you and Alfred."

Arthur climbed the stairs and took the child's hand. "I'm sure you do, but we're going to try and get at least another hour in, okay? Think of it as taking a nap early and getting it over with." Arthur guided the little Alfred to the temporary nursery. He paused when he saw Amelia tucking the toddler in. "I've got one more here."

"Arthur," Amelia smiled as she helped the child into bed, "how'd that talk go with Alfred? Didja reach first base?"

Red tinged Arthur's cheeks. "No, Amelia. We just talked. Things are chaotic enough right now without the intrusion of emotions. I, myself, am going back to bed after I get suitable clothes for the new addition."

"Lie down here. It'll help the lil ones get to bed faster. I'll get the clothes." Amelia pressed a hand against Arthur's back to urge him to bed.

Arthur was hesitant, but upon seeing the hopeful looks on the toddler and child's faces, he climbed between them onto the queen sized bed. "Thank you, Amelia. Would you keep Alfred awake, please?"

"Yeah, sure." She answered and gave the small group a wave before turning off the lights and closing the door.

The entire group (including the cowboy once he was able to gather his wits), took turns helping the most modern America stay awake. The first twenty-four hours were simple enough. At the thirty-six hour mark, Alfred could feel the Confederate States of America trying to force him into slumber, and it was getting progressively harder to resist.

Alfred flipped all the lights on to simulate sunlight. He ate an apple as he stood behind the couch, fully engrossed in re-watching a television show he had found on Netflix. With such hilarity keeping him awake, he would surely be successful in his endeavor. Surely. His gaze traveled to the stairs to see Arthur stepping down them. "He's still asleep," Alfred called out as he looked back at the television, "but he's fighting pretty hard."

"You're doing great." Arthur offered a positive word in passing, but it seemed his mind was on something specific. "I'll need some of your hair." He walked into the kitchen and began searching the drawers for scissors and a small, plastic bag.

Alfred sent him a confused look. "You need my hair? Why? Get some from literally anyone else in the house; it's all mine." It was somewhat of an unfunny joke, and Alfred's voice probably held more seriousness in it than he intended, but he really was just half joking.

"It started with you; it needs to end with you." Arthur paused and pulled a pair of scissors from a drawer, ignoring the fact that he admitted he used some of Alfred's DNA to enact the spell in the first place. "It's the last thing I need for the mixture. I don't want to make a mistake—another one, that is." He walked back over to Alfred and held out the plastic bag he had found. "Hold this while I take some."

Alfred frowned—slightly displeased by the course of actions, but not very bothered by them—and plucked the bag from Arthur's light hold. "Don't cut off my ear," He facetiously warned him.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Arthur commented absently as he found a section of hair and snipped it. "There. Painless. Open the bag, would you?" He focused on keeping the sample of hair all together.

Without a word, Alfred stuck his apple in his mouth and opened the plastic bag, holding it out to Arthur. He watched as Arthur placed the last ingredient in the bag. Suddenly, Alfred let out a small noise of indignation. Arthur lifted his gaze as well as an eyebrow, questioning Alfred's odd rebuttal. Alfred sealed the bag and placed it in Arthur's hands before taking the apple from his mouth. "Dude, that's like thirty hairs. Did the recipe call for like thirty fucking hairs?"

"I wanted to make sure I had extra just in case." Arthur looked between the translucent bag and Alfred's hardly disgruntled expression. "It'll grow back." As if an assurance was necessary. Arthur could tell that Alfred was making fun of him. Interestingly enough, the teasing was not in bad taste. "Are you going to be alright out here while I put the kids to bed?"

"Yeah." Alfred let out a sigh. "It's gonna be hella boring, but I can do it. Only twenty-four hours left, right?"

Arthur nodded softly. "Right." He chose to go silent. Arthur reached out a hand and patted Alfred's upper arm. "You'll do fine. I'll see you in a bit." With that, he walked past Alfred and treaded upstairs.

Alfred managed to last. He stretched himself to the sixty hour mark. As the sun streaked orange and pink across the sky, the cowboy and soldier carried a heavy cauldron down the veranda stairs and to the huge field across the street. Where it was that Arthur managed to procure a cauldron from nearby, the two had no clue. They placed the cauldron down in the grass and viewed the various, combined ingredients inside it.

"What do you think is in it?" The soldier asked as he peered at the mess in the cauldron. He scrunched up his nose. It was probably symbolism.

The cowboy shrugged. "I dunno, but as long as it works, I don't care. C'mon, let's go put on the clothes we were wearing when we got here." With that, he hurried back to the cabin with the soldier following closely behind.

Arthur stepped out of the cabin with the child and toddler in tow. The toddler clung to the white blob as he expressed his displeasure. The child was distraught as well. Arthur struggled to get them into their original clothes and, ultimately, guiding them to where the other Alfreds left the cauldron. He set the toddler on the ground and squat down to meet the child's gaze. "Now, Alfred," He began, "this isn't a permanent goodbye. I'll see you in just a bit after I send you home, okay? And you know that we'll see each other loads of times throughout your life. I need you to be strong." Arthur eyed the toddler. "And you as well."

The child, however upset he was that his time with Arthur was done, nodded and attempted some sort of a smile. "Okay, Arthur. I'm gonna be strong." He renewed himself into a more determined light. "I'm gonna make sure that other guy never hurts you!"

However sweet the declaration was, Arthur knew that the Confederate States of America _probably_ would not harm him. He smiled, nonetheless. "Thank you, Alfred. I believe in you."

By that time, the other versions hurried out of the cabin in their respective clothing. They gathered near the cauldron and watched as the rift twitched and flickered in the close distance. The eldest version of Alfred carried the Confederate States of America outside. Thankfully, the latter was still asleep, but it seemed as if the most modern Alfred was faltering.

Arthur viewed the sky as the most modern America made his way over to the cauldron and lay his carbon copy down on the grass. "We'll probably need to wait another minute or so. We have to be sure the sun has fully set." Arthur spoke aloud as he noted the warm colors in the sky faded to purple. He let out a sigh of relief when he felt the sky was dark enough. Using the light from the rift to see, Arthur pulled out the plastic bag containing Alfred's hair and poured its contents into the cauldron.

At this point, Arthur pulled his wand out and proceeded to wave it. The Alfreds watched as Arthur muttered a sort of incantation. The ingredients in the cauldron spun lazily before speeding up, becoming more and more luminescent. A column of sparkling light shot up into the air, urging a brilliant smile onto Arthur's face.

Once he was finished, Arthur pocketed his wand and looked to Amelia. "You'd better go first and show everyone how easy it is. Set foot in the light. You won't fall in the mixture." He paused briefly before adding, "It was lovely to meet you, Amelia. Thank you for all your help over the past few days. I know it would've been very difficult without you."

Amelia gave Arthur a smile and then a hug. "It was great meeting you, too, Arthur." She whispered into his ear, "Don't wait too long to tell him the truth." With that, Amelia lifted her leg and planted her foot above the cauldron's center. Her eyes widened as she witnessed her weight being supported by seemingly nothing. Quickly, she accepted the amazing occurrence before stepping up until her whole body was in the light column. The others watched her form shot up into the sky and through the rift.

"She'll be home again in seconds." Arthur assured the others before looking amongst the group. "We need to go fast."

The eldest colony volunteered immediately by hurrying to the cauldron. He looked around at the group. "These past, two weeks were awful," He spoke plainly, "but it was an experience I don't want to throw away. I look forward to the future, and I will do things right." It was a personal promise that Alfred was set on keeping. Once he was finished, he climbed onto the cauldron with little effort and disappeared up into the sky.

The second the eldest colony disappeared, the child gripped onto the side of the cauldron. "Arthur," He spoke with willpower flashing in his eyes, "I'm gonna make sure that gray guy won't exist. I love you." Before Arthur could say a word in response, Alfred vaulted himself above the cauldron and back into the past.

Arthur gave the absence of the child a pained smile. He looked down to the cauldron to see the toddler trying to climb it. Surprised, he picked him up. It seemed that he was inspired by the previous Americas disappearing without fear. Realizing that it would be in everyone's best interest not to convince the toddler to remain with him, Arthur placed a kiss against little Alfred's forehead and held him close. He hated the idea of sending him away, but he pulled back and helped the toddler (along with the small, white blob) onto the cauldron. The two forms flew into the sky, fading away.

It was all happening so fast. There were only a few versions of Alfred left in the immediate vicinity…but it was how the world was—how the universe intended things to be. Arthur's thoughts were yanked back when he saw both the rancher and soldier grip the cauldron from opposite sides.

"I'm first." The soldier stated, not leaving room for argument. "I still have to beat Arthur's ass in war."

"I'm pretty sure it sends us back to the second we were taken from," The rancher answered, not even considering an argument about who should go first. He released his hold on the cauldron's rim. "You go, then. I'll be up behind you."

The soldier's grip on the cauldron tightened, and he finally let out a sincere remark, "It was…really nice hanging out with you, Near Future Alfred. I'm looking forward to being you." At least then he knew he would grow. Without another word, the soldier climbed up and disappeared through the light.

Alfred the rancher stared up at the sky. "It was nice hanging out with you, too," He responded, knowing that it was too late and that his past self could not hear him. He then focused his gaze on the most modern Alfred and Arthur. "You guys better dump him as soon as possible. No chance for hesitation. He's got a way of surprising people." He gave the duo a firm nod. "It was great meeting you both, and I know more from it." Quickly, he hopped onto the cauldron.

Just as the cowboy's form disappeared from the light column, the most modern America fell where he stood, and the Confederate States of America kicked the cauldron with the intent to knock it over. The column was disrupted, but before the cauldron could spill out its ingredients, Arthur leaped forward and held it in place. While righting the cauldron, Arthur watched in horror as the Confederate States of America rose from the ground.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm so sorry I was two days late, but we have a longer chapter than usual at least. The next chapter will be the last one, and in keeping with the theme of time travel and different versions of one being, I have written <strong>_**two, alternate endings**_** for American Copies. I will upload them both at the same time so you can choose to read Alternate Ending One or Alternate Ending Two—or you could even read them both to decide which one you favor. Thank you so much for your time! I hope you enjoyed chapter ten and are excited for Chapters Eleven!**


	11. The Rewrite (Alt End 1)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia.**

_**BEFORE YOU READ**_: **Both endings start where chapter ten ended. This is the first, alternate ending. It is the **BITTERSWEET **end. If you want to read the **DRAMATIC BUT HAPPY** end instead, then you should skip this chapter and read the second, alternate ending. **

**I had so much run writing this series, and I would like to thank everyone for reading it! Without further ado, please enjoy the first, alternative ending for American Copies.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 11 – The Rewrite<p>

Arthur switched into a fighting stance, but before he could take action, Alfred yanked his copy down. Arthur watched, slightly confused. They were both conscious at the same time? He looked up at the rift to see it bleed more of its insanity into the present. The lines between hypotheticals were fading.

Quickly, Arthur summoned his wand, and he began re-casting the spell. The column of light shot from the cauldron again, and Arthur's gaze was snatched from it to tensely view the close battle. Punches were thrown, and blood began to streak across each of the participants' faces. The Confederacy managed to force his way on top and reached for his cutlass. Arthur put away his wand before running full speed at the match.

The Confederacy found himself on the ground a few feet away from his intended target. He sent a dark glare at the infuriating distraction above him. Sensing that he was losing his chance, the Confederacy kicked Arthur off, leaped up, and charged at his now standing copy. Almost instantaneously, Arthur was on him again, forcing all of his weight into a tackle which the other America barely managed to dodge.

That was twice. _Twice in under thirty seconds this fucking country thwarted him_. The Confederacy twisted on the ground to deliver a sharp punch almost _though_ Arthur's abdomen. Letting out a violent hack, Arthur felt himself collide with the ground, just inches away from the cauldron's dark surface. He watched as the Confederacy unsheathed his cutlass and stepped closer to him. The villain wore a smirk on his face. Clearly, he realized he was about to taste victory—or at least rub out an obstacle on the way.

Alfred darted into action, leaped above the Confederacy, and hooked his hands under his opponent's arms. He saw the world from an upside down view as his entire body fell into the column of light. Keeping a death grip on his copy's form, he intended to drag the astronomically large annoyance out of existence along with himself.

In the course of a few seconds, Arthur saw the threat in front of him disappear into the column of light and blink out of existence. The light dissipated. The rift shrunk into nothing. Arthur was surrounded by silence and a starry sky.

Once Arthur had his breath back, he jumped up and looked all around. "America!" He called. When he heard no answer, he yelled louder, straining his voice, "_America!_" Arthur panted and refused to face the reality of the situation at hand. "_ALFRED!_" He cried out before gasping in a labored breath.

Nothing answered him but the sounds of nature.

Arthur glared up at the sky as tears clouded his vision and stained his cheeks. "Why?!" He shouted, "Why did you accept him?! He _belongs_ here! He—" Arthur coughed and clutched his stomach. As he did, he realized the result—why the universe accepted the present Alfred. His eyes slipped closed, and he shook his head.

The rift. It needed a proper consummation: a helping of paradox byproduct.

And Alfred was perfect for it.

With all the misused time spell power centralized around Alfred, Arthur had made him into the ideal payment to properly sew up the rift. Arthur had cursed himself—maybe not in the strict, fairy-tale sense, but Arthur felt the painful burden of carrying his error. He yanked his wand into existence and glared at it. Lifting it slightly, he mentally ran through all the spells he knew, but none could have a hope of bringing back the real, original Alfred he knew…and loved.

"Damn it," He attempted a hiss that turned out as more of a sob, "damn it all…" Every pathetic sound Arthur uttered was sucked away in the silence, but not before being amplified by being the only sounds in the immediate vicinity. He threw the wand down in the grass and kicked over the cauldron, allowing the ingredients to spill across the expanse of ground. "Are you happy?!" Arthur shouted at the black sky. "Are you happy?! Arthur, are you _glad?!"_ His breath was erratic, and the suitable solution seemed to be reprimanding himself. "You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?! One Alfred wasn't _good_ enough for you, was he?! You _had_ to go and summon those other copies as if nothing bad would happen! You selfish fool!"

Arthur fell to his knees, but it did not stop him from yelling his throat dry, "You can't cry, England—! You can't…" He took in a deep breath and quickly expended it, "You did this! You were the one that did this! You fucking imbecile! You're not allowed to hurt!"

For a minute or so, the surroundings were filled with Arthur's echoed sobs. Eventually, they died down and left him with a distinct lack of noise. He stared down at the grass, thinking it unfair that he was alive and well while the personification of America was fed to a time-space, metaphorical beast.

Briefly putting aside his self-pity, he wondered. What would happen to all of America's people now that he was actually gone? He's heard of tragic events harming the personifications and changes in culture altering them. The creation of another personification birthed of differing views from the original America in 1860 only proved the theory. So what if people lost their personification? Would the country itself lose its borders or—? Arthur's eyes widened in realization.

A new one would take Alfred's place. A brand new personification—a brand new America.

Immediately, Arthur felt nauseous. They would probably look exactly the same, but they would be without all of Alfred's memories and feelings. The relationship Arthur had with Alfred would be completely gone—glossed over! On top of that… All of Alfred's relationships with the other countries would be dead…and a newborn personification would have to fill Alfred's shoes—they would _constantly_ be measured up to Alfred. Loss. Expectations. Unintentional resentment.

Arthur stood up and pulled out his wand.

No. There will not be a new America. The solution was clear. If Arthur's unnatural tangent created a doomed timeline, then he would just have to go back and change it. It would likely cause a brief paradox that he could conceivably fix. It was also a solution that he wanted to avoid as much as possible, but ending this tangent was much more important than his personal fears.

Arthur eyed the full moon and cursed. The universe likely would not let him backtrack to get a better future since it mainly involved another revamping of space-time. He would need to wait fourteen days for the new moon, but he could do it. He could wait without skipping time.

And he did.

Arthur had spent fourteen, agonizing days in that cabin. To have so many Alfreds running around and then suddenly having none was torture, but he lived with it. When the fourteenth night came, Arthur hiked to the general spot where he had first summoned all the American copies. He heavily sighed before looking around the area.

As quickly and as carefully as he could, Arthur painted out the appropriate circle writing with the appropriate time. If the past month taught him anything, it was to never use a cauldron mixture as a vehicle to carry out lunar magic. Working _with_ the universe's preferred, drawn, circle spells would help much better. Once finished with his drawing, he tossed his can of spray paint aside. He would've used chalk, but spray painting was just so much faster.

Arthur took in a calming breath and stood in the center of the magic circle. With one final look at the lack of moon, he closed his eyes and held up his wand, speaking the spell's lyrics. He assumed a column of light surrounded him as he was nearing the end of the spell. Arthur let his eyes slip open to see that he was correct.

In the next moment, he was standing face to face with Britannia Angel in the vast field of green. Britannia Angel stared at Arthur, wide eyed and startled. Slowly, Arthur put away his own wand and stepped closer to his copy from a month back.

"Good to see you, Britannia Angel." He spoke, looking down at the cauldron between them. Ah, yes. The mixture for bringing the Americas into existence. He eyed the wand in Britannia Angel's hand before gazing into his past self's eyes.

"I didn't summon myself." Britannia Angel stated, irked that he was confused. "I haven't even said the words yet. Why are you here?"

Arthur nodded softly before jerking back a fist and punching Britannia Angel square in his face. Immediately afterwards, he sent his foot into Britannia Angel's stomach, winding him. After kicking over the cauldron, the mixture spilled out all over the grass, and then darting past his past self, Arthur snatched his old wand.

He ran towards the cabin. Even though he was too far away to actually reach it (or see it for that matter), he knew that Alfred would be between there and where he had initially casted the summoning spell. Arthur did not dare look back—especially when he saw Alfred lying down in the grass in the far distance. A wide smile stretched across his face, and he felt his eyes slightly water.

It was _Alfred!_

He was just lying there! He was fine!

Arthur saw Alfred's head fall to the side and a confused expression appeared on the American's face. Without stopping his pace, Arthur slid to the ground and grabbed onto Alfred, pressing his face into Alfred's neck.

He spoke as he tried catching his breath, "You're alive!" His voice was hoarse from his exerted effort. "I can't believe it—! You're really alive…" He felt Alfred sit up and then wrap an arm around his waist.

"Uh— Yeah, Arthur, I'm fine." Oh, it was wonderful hearing his voice again! "What's going on? Why're you here?" Gently, Alfred pulled Arthur away just enough to see his face—and by extension, his tears. His expression immediately grew concerned. "Arthur, what's wrong?"

Arthur looked back the way he had come to see a white figure in the far distance. "I don't have much time." He viewed Alfred and took in a deep breath. "I did something terrible, and I had to tell you something before I fixed it." Without giving Alfred a chance to speak, he rattled off what he had to say, "It's selfish of me to ask, but please bear with me, and forgive me if I stray into inconsiderate territory." He took in a shaky breath. "Tell me that I needn't worry—that you're _still_ here and that you _still_ care. And tell me—" There was desperation in how Arthur gripped Alfred's shirt, but he _needed_ Alfred to know. Quickly, he pressed his lips against Alfred's. Arthur pulled back, releasing his hold on Alfred's shirt and gripped both ends of his past self's wand. "I love you, Alfred." He snapped the wand in half.

He watched as Arthur's form disappeared the second the wand was destroyed. Alfred was thoroughly shocked by Arthur's sudden appearance, Arthur's confession, and Arthur's kiss. On top of that, he had disappeared before his eyes! Hearing Britannia Angel land a few feet away woke him from his stupor.

"Oi, Alfred!" Judging from Britannia Angel's tone and bloody nose, he seemed pretty pissed. Oh…and it looked as if he had changed into Arthur again. Did he just fall from the sky? "Did you see where that arsehole went? He's got my wand, and I'd like to curse him."

"Uh…," Alfred looked to where that random copy used to be and then back at Arthur. "He was here, but he disappeared. Oh— After breaking your wand, he disappeared."

Arthur glared at nothing in particular. "That fucking idiot," He hissed, "He knows I can't fix it if I break it intentionally." He touched his nose and winced, "Damn it…"

Alfred stood up, wincing at the blood. "Looks like that fall from the sky really got your nose."

He shook his head. "No, it was that thing—that clone or android or what have you. Christ, why can't they just stop making those things? It's confusing enough…" Briefly, Arthur thought back on his original plan to call forth versions from America's history.

With a shrug, Alfred moved away Arthur's hands which partially covered his nose. "Mm. We should get some ice on that. S'no big deal." He paused, watching Arthur's barely irked gaze. He thought about bringing up what that weird version of Arthur was talking about, but if his Arthur was angry at it, then it probably would be a bad thing to mention. "Yeah, let's get some ice on that. My car's right over there." Alfred jabbed a thumb in the direction of his vehicle.

"Right," Arthur huffed softly. He was not as angry anymore. At least the brief, weird occurrence did not cause any damage besides his sore stomach and bloody nose. Truthfully, if he had gone through with his spell, then there would be no telling what could have happened to Alfred—he could have died because of Arthur's momentary selfishness! A distressed expression appeared on his face, matching his thoughts. Sure, Arthur would be able to see all those beloved memories of Alfred, but it truly was not worth it if it would mean losing Alfred entirely.

"Arthur," Alfred spoke up, snapping Arthur out of his thoughts, "I said c'mon. You're pretty slow. Is old age catching up to you?" He flashed Arthur a grin to ensure that other knew he was joking. Before Arthur could retort in the way he usually did, Alfred took his hand and began leading him towards the car. "I guess I have to pull you along."

Arthur stared down at Alfred's hand as it held his own. It was not a harsh grip or a wimpy touch. It felt…secure. It sort of grounded him. It gave Arthur a sense that everything would be fine. When he viewed Alfred's warm smile, he fell into a comfortable pace, accepting the interaction as one he preferred over the idea of forcing the universe to do his bidding.

* * *

><p><strong>If you haven't already, I suggest reading the other alternate ending. Thank you so much for investing your time in reading American Copies!<strong>


	12. The Follow-Through (Alt End 2)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia.**

_**BEFORE YOU READ: **_**Both endings start where chapter ten ended. This is the second, alternate ending. It is the **DRAMATIC BUT HAPPY** end. If you want to read the **BITTERSWEET **end instead, then you should go back to the first chapter eleven and read the first, alternate ending.**

**I had so much run writing this series, and I would like to thank everyone for reading it! Without further ado, please enjoy the second, alternative ending for American Copies.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 11 – The Follow-Through<p>

The Confederacy sent Arthur a prideful smirk as he stood. "Thought you could get rid of me that easy, eh? Now, I'm back _and_ well rested. Thanks for that." His hand went to his hilt with the intent to draw his cutlass.

At that second, the Confederacy's world instantly shifted, and he found himself on his back with a piercing headache. _Fuck_, those two annoyances loved tripping people. Once his momentary vision loss passed, he growled and sat up in time to see that Arthur had righted the cauldron and that his counterpart was up and ready to fight. Each personification stared the Confederacy down.

"Heh," The villain straightened up his posture and rubbed the back of his head. "Two against one isn't really fair."

Alfred looked the mirror image up and down judgingly before throwing out a line, "It's gonna be two against none in a sec, Asshole."

There was a pause before Arthur glanced at Alfred. He spoke with minor concern lacing his voice, "That doesn't really make sense, Alfred—"

"Doesn't matter. He's fucking toast." Alfred crossed his arms and delivered his next line with pride, "_Texas _toast."

"Christ, Alfred." Arthur worked to keep his gaze on the Confederacy, but Alfred's superhero-esque puns were driving down his strength. "What sort of purpose does your wordplay serve? Are you trying to contribute to his humiliation when he eventually loses to us? _Which_ we may not be able to beat him if we never engage in combat, _because you keep throwing out nauseating puns_."

"Well—" Alfred attempted to respond as he narrowly dodged the Confederacy's cutlass. He was about to go on when he heard Arthur hiss in pain. Panicked, Alfred looked back to see that Arthur was clutching his side. Okay, a side was no big deal. They were nations. Sides heal.

The Confederacy swung his blade at Alfred.

Alfred, in response, threw his arms up while simultaneously jumping back. He winced and looked down to see red blooming across his chest. "What is it with you and diagonal cuts?" Alfred growled and took another few steps back to ground himself.

Arthur backed up as well, keeping a trained eye on the Confederacy. Being cut was absolutely embarrassing. Obviously, he was off practice.

"It's just how I swing a sword, Union." The Confederacy gave a half-hearted shrug. "Well. I say 'Union.' I guess I should say…ex-America? The Once United States of America? Nah, that's bad. I guess Alfred'll do until you're knocked back into my subconscious while I take the place of America's personification."

Alfred kept on a glare, wanting nothing more than to smash the Confederacy like the bug he was. "Arthur, use your magic or something to knock this guy off his feet, or at least get the rift to suck him in." Truthfully, he really wanted Arthur's body to stay away from that blade and the cleverest way to convince him to side step action was to offer up a better task.

Arthur would have argued, but the Americas dove right into another round of fighting. He had to admit that he was worried out of his mind until the cutlass was kicked away. Then he could think. Damaging the rift further to call the universe forth to fix everything was out of the question. He supposed he could make a bastardized spell from his beloved, book series, but that would take time—time he did not have. He did, however, take up the discarded sword. Briefly, he sent a glance at the cauldron behind him, and then he viewed both Alfreds throwing punches. He winced in reaction to the swift kick to his Alfred's stomach.

Unable to just stand aside, Arthur charged forward, intent on running the Confederacy through. The cutlass sunk into an America, but to Arthur's horror it was _Alfred_ he had skewered. Where had the Confederacy gone?! Arthur felt someone—no doubt the Confederacy—give him a firm shove, forcing the cutlass deeper into Alfred.

Alfred fell to the ground with a thud.

"Bet you didn't know how fast I was, huh?" The Confederacy chuckled and viewed his counterpart's chest growing more and more red. "Right in the heart, too. It's a little eerie, isn't it? Seeing one of yourselves get the axe."

Arthur would have responded, but his mind was currently saturated with one thought: Alfred was dying. The variations in the Confederacy's tone shook Arthur back to reality, and in that instant, Arthur felt his body burn with rage. He yanked the bloodied cutlass from his America's chest and swung it behind him, determined to decapitate the Confederacy.

Back and forth, Arthur swung—but with practiced finesse. The Confederacy caught a look of cold willpower in his eyes. As Alfred dodged his cutlass, backing away as he did, it clicked that perhaps Arthur did not have multiple versions of himself so much as multiple talents. Perhaps Arthur channeled which 'England' he needed to approach a situation, and when finished, he placed the train of thought back in its folder to be found when needed again. It would suit him well enough.

And those eyes.

Those must have belonged to the British Empire—the piercing gaze he used with his enemy. The cutlass might not have been the same weapon he used in the past, but it fit very well in his hand.

The Confederacy halted when his legs hit the cauldron. He looked back for a split second before he saw the cutlass shoot through him. He dragged his gaze to Arthur and then down to see the weapon buried up to its hilt.

Their eyes locked.

Arthur did not dignify the Confederacy with a departing word. He merely swung his leg, cracking his foot into the Confederacy's jaw and sending him, along with his bloodied cutlass, through the light column. Hopefully, he would die. Arthur stared at the light for a second or so before rushing back to Alfred.

Arthur slid to the ground and pressed his hands on either side of Alfred's head. "Alfred?" He took in his appearance.

Alfred's breaths trickled in and out. The light that once filled his eyes had darkened down to nothing but navy blue. His skin had paled, and the same grass that once brushed against his sides cradled him, welcoming him to the Earth's sweet embrace.

And it was all Arthur's fault.

Arthur did everything in his power to try and keep a calm face, but when he felt Alfred's lungs struggle to inhale, it did nothing but weaken his resolve. Tears had begun to drip down his cheeks and his own breathing became labored.

"…I can't…"

Arthur's eyes widened upon hearing Alfred's voice. It was tired. It was soft. It had fought to be heard just as always. He took in a gasping breath and worked to quiet his own voice to a quivering whisper, "What—? You can't what, Alfred?"

Arthur pulled Alfred's upper body into his arms. A streak or two of red dripped from the corner of Alfred's lips and down his chin.

"Arthur," His voice grew even softer. It was a wonder Arthur could even hear it at all. He lifted his hand and brushed his thumb against a corner of Arthur's eye, stealing a tear from slipping down the other's cheek. "Before all this, I didn't know—" He coughed violently before settling again, "…I didn't…notice how I felt."

Arthur shook his head. He gripped Alfred's hand and held it to his cheek. "No— No, Alfred, you're going to be just fine." He took in a shuddering breath, and then raised his voice out of panic, "I promise you, you'll be fine!"

Alfred stared up at Arthur and his eyelids blinked as if time had slowed tremendously. "…You wanted t-to keep me close…forever."

"You'll be fine!" Arthur shouted, though his voice broke halfway through. "Don't say these things, Alfred! There's no need—! You can tell me later." He should have never cast that spell. He should have never brought all of those versions of Alfred into one time period. It was far too risky. He had been selfish. Tremendously. And the price…

Alfred's eyes still remained fixed on Arthur's panicked gaze. "…It's okay. I know why you did it, Arthur." His voice quieted down to nothing more than his lips moving. Perhaps if Arthur had been close enough, he could have heard his vocal chords trying to work. "It'll be okay, Arthur, because…" He coughed again. Splatters of red shot from his lips and painted them. He looked tiredly up at Arthur.

It was hard to see Alfred's face. Arthur believed that his tears were blocking his vision, but he did not dare release Alfred's hand from his cheek. He did not dare move or utter a word.

With his last bits of strength, a smile stretched across Alfred's face. A brilliant one. Brilliant and bright… Alfred turned his head and nuzzled against Arthur's shoulder. Then there was silence. He had become much heavier, and his smile faded.

Arthur stared down at Alfred. His breath had caught in his throat. Carefully, he set Alfred's hand down and wrapped his free arm around Alfred, burying his face against the other's chest. His shoulders shook with quiet sobs as his most beloved person rested in his arms. Thoughts triggered each other in Arthur's mind—they set each other off, leading to a solitary realization.

Alfred was a personification—not a human.

Of course. But why was he dead? Arthur paused and pulled away just enough to view the diseased rift. That damn, greedy rift. He still had to sew it up. Gasping, he looked down at Alfred's body. His heart sank, realizing that Alfred was still dead, but…he moved, right? Arthur was not imagining things? He shifted and gently lay Alfred's upper body down on the ground.

An unknown force slowly pulled the body towards the cauldron.

Arthur's eyes widened, now realizing what was going on. The universe needed the rift sewn up. The only logical way to do it would be to feed it paradox residue and Alfred was the perfect solution. Of course that meant Alfred had to cease existing. …And because the rift was essentially in American skies, it could be what was causing Alfred to remain in his limp state. Arthur needed to give the rift something else to gorge itself on. But what did he have that could outmatch all the paradox residue Alfred had?

Arthur's eyes widened and he stood, taking out his wand.

He had used his wand for more magic spells than he could remember. It was the wand that ripped parts of America from their time periods and placed them all shoulder to shoulder. Despite the fact that Arthur had been the one to control what the magic did and where it went, the real tool that conducted the personal displacement of space-time was cradled in Arthur's grasp.

Without giving the idea another thought, Arthur ran to the cauldron and dropped his wand into it. He took a few steps back to watch the light column exponentially increase its shine before shooting its entirety into the sky. The cauldron broke apart; black pieces flew in all directions. The scenery calmed. Arthur viewed where the cauldron once stood, and then he dared to look at the sky.

The empty sky.

Save for the stars.

Arthur let out a sigh of relief. It was done. The copies were sent back. The Confederacy was more or less a nonissue. The rift was sewn up.

His gaze fell on Alfred. Silently, Arthur stepped over to him and settled down on the grass. He leaned over Alfred, hovering his ear above Alfred's mouth in hopes he would feel— Ah… Oh, good— Oh, good… He was breathe—

A wet texture brushed against Arthur's ear, and Arthur sat up immediately. His cheeks dared to darken, and his smile threatened to take over his face. "Alfred—? Did you lick my ear?" Under any normal circumstances, he would have reacted with more of a negative outburst.

"No," Alfred answered softly, opening one eye to see Arthur. His voice was still partially labored, "Must've been your imagination." Arthur merely watched Alfred with an inarguably relieved gaze.

Alfred attempted to sit up, and Arthur wrapped an arm around him, helping him. "Alfred, you do know that I am…very sorry for what I did? I never gave it enough thought—it was so selfish." He gulped, "I know that this is something… Something entirely new. I don't know how you'll take it or if you could ever forgive me. But— You can be sure that I will spend many, many years trying to make up for it."

Alfred viewed Arthur's concerned expression. It would take a while for him to be able to let the past fourteen days slide, but he was looking forward to spending many, many years with Arthur as his personal assistant. He gave Arthur a weak smile and then placed a kiss against his head. "Yeah, you will. Let's get you started by bandaging up my chest, m'kay?"

Arthur's gaze flickered across Alfred's face, and realization set in. Alfred seemed to be mostly okay with him again… Arthur smiled brightly, and he stood, pulling Alfred up with him. Arthur brushed his lips against Alfred's shoulder before partly supporting Alfred's weight. With blissful thoughts unclouded by guilt or panic, Arthur guided the other back to the cabin. "Okay, Alfred. That sounds like a good start."

* * *

><p><strong>If you haven't already, I suggest reading the other alternate ending. Thank you so much for investing your time in reading American Copies!<strong>


End file.
